#and that the people who like it will stay and the people who don’t will leave

[arina24]

Throwback - I

Le Sserafim Sakura, Aespa Winter, M Reader.

5k words

Tags: Fluff, Smut.

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Scene - I

“We need to break up.” You say to the naked girl lying next to you, wrapped in a blanket.

“I agree.” Sakura is as convinced as you are.

Her room is dim, the only light comes from the faint blue glow of the pre-dawn sky slipping through the curtains. The early morning light drapes the room in a soft, cold hue, barely touching the edges. The world outside is quiet, and the stillness seeps into the room, filling it with a palpable silence.

It is very fitting for a breakup.

“So, is this how it ends?” Sakura asks, her voice calm, almost pondering. ”I guess so.” You reply blankly.

“At least the sex was good; maybe we were saving the best for last.” She is still lightly panting and trying to catch her breath. Reality is starting to settle in.

It was good.

You knew it was the last time. You had agreed this was for the best—for both of you. Sure, you’ve had spats before, but this time was different, and you knew it.

“I’ll be back later if I miss any of my stuff here.” You pack your bag with deliberation.

”You can drop by anytime you want. Hey, are you taking any of my items with you?” She questions.

“Hmm, I don’t think so. I can take something if you want me to.” You smile at her. “Like these dirty panties.”

“Are you sure? Nothing in that bag belongs to me?” She quizzes again, tilting her head to look at you with a confused expression on her face.

“Yes, I am sure, my dear.” You reply softly. You think for a couple of seconds about where she could be going with all this before she quickly changes the topic.

“Wanna stay the night?” Her tone could be mistaken for having a hint of hope.

“No, I’ve got work tomorrow.” You head to the bathroom to clean up. After getting dressed and grabbing your bag, you pause at her door for a lingering couple of seconds. Sakura notices and weakly smiles, waving at you with a finality. You wave back and leave. You wonder if you should have stayed the night, given that you might never see her again. The early morning blue presses down on you as you walk back to your house.

You reach into your bag and pull out the keychain you wanted to gift her. You don’t even remember when you bought it. The opportunity to gift it never really manifested itself. The keychain was a metal heart in baby pink color, with the two of your initials etched on it. She would have found it adorable, you think. You debate whether you should give it to her as a parting gift or just throw it away. It takes little time to finalize your decision. You hold your hand up, staring at it for a few seconds before tossing it far, far away into the unknown.

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Scene - II

“Go talk to her, you idiot.” Minjeong is clearly annoyed with you at this point. “She’s alone, sitting on a park bench, and stared at you a few times; she’s practically begging you to go talk to her.” Sure, when you’re as cute as Minjeong is, it’s easy to assume everyone who glances your way is desperate for your attention. The same might not be true for you, but you figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. Especially when the girl is as pretty as her.

She was wearing a yellow sundress, which seemed to shimmer and sparkle in the bright sun, making it easy to imagine a soft glow around her. The sundress came down to half her soft thighs, the perfect length, leaving the rest of her legs exposed. Sundresses, something a lot of people (not excluding you) were thankful to summers for. She had earphones dangling from her neck, but fortunately, she didn’t have them in her ears. She sat there, content, just watching the park go by.

You approach her, nerves gnawing at you. “Mind if I sit here?” You try to appear as friendly as possible.

”Oh, not at all.” She replies, offering a warm smile that somehow makes the afternoon heat a little more bearable.

“What are you listening to?” You point to her earphones.

“Oh, nothing. I was just on a call.”

“Huh, you like to just watch the park? I noticed you were sitting here for a while….” You pause, considering your following words. "I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not interrupting. I could see your friend over there was basically pushing you to me, so even if you were, I couldn’t blame you.” She chuckles, lightly grazing your arm. “Yes, I come here to watch the world go by and relax. It has been a tradition with my dad ever since I was a kid, but he recently moved back to his old house.”

“So it’s safe to assume you’re looking for new company on your park outings?” She seems friendly enough, and that gives you more confidence.

She thinks for a second before replying. “Well, I’m not necessarily looking, but if the company is good enough—” she gives you a cheeky smirk, “—I could be convinced.”

You offer your hand and tell her your name.

She extends hers back and smiles. “Sakura.”

“So, if you’ve grown up here, I guess you know the city pretty well. I recently moved here and have been looking for places to explore.”

“Are you looking just for suggestions, or would you prefer I take you to said places?” Her smirk returns.

“No one said park company has to be limited to park company. It could be… extended to general company as well.”

”That sounds nice. There’s a cozy coffee place nearby; wanna check it out?” She stands up, looking expectantly at you.

You are not stupid enough to refuse. You get up and head to the cafe with her. From the background, your friend Minjeong winks at you and gives a thumbs up for good luck, watching with a content smile.

It’s easy to talk with Sakura. She laughs at your jokes, and her responses make you laugh even more. A couple of hours pass by without either of you realizing it, and it’s time to leave already.

“Coffee was great—if this is how good your recommendations are, I definitely wanna hear the rest of them too.” You smile as you step outside, adjusting your bag.

“Mmm.” Sakura pretends to think, her finger resting on her chin. “There’s another place, barely visited, but I think it is very underrated.”

”And what would that place be?” You have a feeling about what she’s going to answer, but play along anyway.

Her voice drops to a playful, sultry whisper. “My house is just a few blocks from here.”

”Very tempting spot, but let me just text my friend that I’ll be a while, don’t wanna leave her hanging.” You bring out your phone and quickly shoot Minjeong a text.

“Aren’t you sweet? I’d imagine most guys forget everything and everyone at the thought of… you know.” She pats your head playfully.

“Yeah, I’d also imagine most guys haven’t dealt with someone as bratty as her.” She laughs as her fingers graze your arm again.

The path to her house is short, your fingers brushing hers as you walk side by side. When your fingers lightly touch hers, she responds by intertwining them with yours. Sakura looks at you with a sparkle in her eyes, her hand in yours until you reach her place.

Almost every showpiece in her living room is pink. "You really like pink, huh?" you ask. "Baby pink," she corrects with a smile. "It's my favorite color."

It doesn’t take long for you to get your hands on Sakura after locking the door. You slip a hand around her neck and pull her in, causing your lips and hers to touch softly. She gives a contented sigh before pushing her body closer to yours, her boobs pressing against your chest as the kiss slowly grows deeper. Her lips part way for your tongue to explore her mouth, and you swirl your tongue against hers. You inhale her scent; she smells like the most expensive vanilla and tastes even better. You don’t want to stop savoring her lips, so you push her onto the couch and get on top of her as you are still kissing.

She’s a bit taken aback, and you can see the surprise on her face, but she recovers quickly and pulls you in, wanting your body as close to her as possible, with space left only for her to touch you. Her petite finger starts at your neck and travels languidly down your body till it gets to your pants and rests there, tenderly rubbing at your cock through your pants. You pull away from the kiss, and she shyly withdraws her hand from you.

“Something wrong?” She questions, concern showing in her voice.

“Nothing. Just want to taste more of you.” You reassure her, grabbing her hand and gently placing it back on your crotch, which makes her smile. You continue where you left off and start kissing her right below her lips and down to her neck, each kiss eliciting a soft moan from her, telling you she wants nothing more than for you to keep kissing her forever. Your cock grows harder with every rub of Sakura’s dainty fingers through your pant, covering you in a circular motion.

Your hand wanders under her dress and slides up her thighs; you only had to barely approach her panties to realize how dripping wet she is. You go all the way and soak your fingers in her juices, and then pull it out and show her. “Looks like you need me badly.” She hits your shoulder playfully in response. You shove your fingers into your mouth and deliberately slide it out in a way that she can see you swallow every drip of her juices. She watches your entire performance with unbreakable attention. “That was so hot.” She remarks, but you already knew that.

Her hands tug at your t-shirt as she whines, showing her desperation to get your clothes off of you. With her help, you quickly take off your tee and throw it off, and her hand rests on your chest with a sense of certainty, almost like it belongs to her. “Pants too.” She huffs. “This all seems very one-sided, but I’ll comply.” You pretend as if you want anything more than being naked in front of her. She pulls your pants off of you and throws them to wherever your tee went.

“There we go, much better.” She kneels in front of you on the couch and sweeps her soft blonde hair back from her face. You sit facing her, one of her hands gracefully resting on your thigh as the other slides down your underwear. A soft “Ah!” escapes her lips on seeing your cock pop out, almost at full length already.

Sakura spits into her palms with a cuteness (how can spitting be cute?), which you can’t quite explain. One of her tender hands wraps itself around your cock, starting at your base and sliding up slowly enough to make sure every part of you is lubricated, including your tip. You can feel yourself getting throbbing hard with every stroke of her hands, something that pleases her very much too. Once she’s sure you’re as hard as you can get, her tongue starts at your base, licking you softly at first, pecking soft kisses throughout your length, looking into your eyes the entire time. “You taste very good.” She says.

Her licking quickly gets more vigorous, tasting and devouring every bit of you like she hasn't eaten in days. Your hand finds the back of her hand, caressing her hair softly, which only encourages her. She starts to take your tip into her mouth, her tongue circling around the tip as she waits there for a short while. Her head then begins to move up and down on your cock, taking you deeper and deeper with each thrust.

Some spit begins dripping out of her mouth and down to your balls as she moves her head, her other hand massaging your balls very softly now. She makes sure to apply just the right amount of pressure not to overwhelm you, judging your reaction with every rub to find out exactly what you like. She wants to make you feel good. Her spit gets all over her face as she continues sucking, but that doesn't seem to bother her, and she keeps going.

She breaks away from your cock, strands of spit connecting her mouth with your cock breaking as she asks you, “Do you want to take more control?” It was clear what it was—an invitation to fuck her mouth, and it was also clear you weren't going to say no in a million years. Sakura sticks out her tongue for you, ready for you to claim her mouth. You hold her head gently and begin to thrust your cock into her pretty mouth softly, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable. She wraps her hands around your back, her eyes looking at you with desire, and you can see she wants you to go faster.

So you do. You bury yourself deep in her throat and start fucking. Her mouth is a wet mess of pure lewdness, and the pleasure drives you to your extreme. It was harder to say whether your moans or hers were louder at this point, even though she was at a clear disadvantage.

As heavenly as Kkura’s mouth is, you can only last so long in it. “I’m about to cum, Kkura,” you try to get out between your heavy pants. Her eyes tell you she already knows, and she wraps her hands even tighter around you and takes your cock completely in her mouth. You cum, your load flowing out into her mouth and down her throat, and she makes sure not to waste a single drop, swallowing it all. After making sure you're milked dry, she removes your cock from her mouth with a satisfied sigh.

Your phone buzzes in the pants she tossed aside, probably Minjeong texting to ask if you're coming home tonight. You mentally make a note that you owe her one.

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Scene - III

Hey, been SO LONG since we met (yes 2 days is long without you, shut). Usual spot, 6 PM?

Reads the text from Kkura. You were in the period of the relationship where every minute without her felt like an hour, and evidently, she feels the same.

Sure. I’ll get coffee, though, so don’t you dare buy something again.

You quickly type it up and head off to work, hoping 6 PM comes sooner than it should. It does. The park is only close to your house, so a few minutes before the scheduled meetup, you sit on the couch, waiting for your roommate Minjeong to return so that you can give her the house key. You reminded her a thousand times to be back on time today, and she promised she would, but to neither of your surprises, she doesn't. She arrives at 6, muttering some excuse about losing track of time. You ask her to shove it, give her the key, and rush to the park.

You carry two cups of coffee as promised, hers with caramel, just as she likes. She's already waiting for you on the park bench where you first met, on time as always. You wonder how Kkura looks more and more beautiful every time you see her. She was only wearing a simple shirt and jeans, with her hair tied up, and probably came here right from work. You hand her the coffee, apologizing for the delay.

“Sorry, Minjeong and I haven't figured out the key situation in our new house yet and have to run around each other’s schedules. Hope you weren't waiting too long.” ”No, don't you worry about that sweetie. I’m just happy to see you again.” She accepts her coffee with a smile and gives you a kiss on the cheek.

“You wanna take a walk around the park? The weather is nice this fall.” You extend your hand to her.

She takes it, intertwining her fingers with yours. “Sure.”

“So how are you adjusting to your new house? Hope you and Minjeong aren’t having too much difficulty.” She says as she takes slow, measured steps, leaves crunching under her feet.

“It’s not exactly been smooth, but we’re managing. Would have been easier if Minjeong can actually remember things every once in a while, but its not right to put all the blame on her. I’ve not exactly been perfect either.” You lazily sip on your coffee.

“Be better to her, silly.” She playfully hits you with her bag. “She’s the reason we’re together today.”

“Yeah. Did I ever tell you? She’s the only reason I survived high school too.” You reply thoughtfully.

“Wow, you guys go back, huh? When are you going to tell me about your adventures at school with her?” Sakura asks in a slightly surprised tone.

“Story for another day.” You wink at her. “Anyway, how is your work going? I guess you came here directly. Are the hours getting too long?”

“Yeah, work has been a bit stressful lately; the company is going through a tough period.” Right at that moment, her phone rings. “Speak of the devil... it's my manager. Wonder what he wants at this hour, I have to take the call. Sorry babe.” She says and attends the call.

As you stand around waiting for her to finish talking, a gift shop on a small stall catches your eye. You gesture to her that you're going there, and she acknowledges it with a thumbs-up. At the stall, your eyes go over the pair of swans gliding, a small winter globe of the city, before resting on keychains with random pairs of letters engraved on them. You search through before finding one with your initial and S, which happens to be in baby pink too (you've memorized the exact shade by now). You quickly pay for it, put it in your pocket, and return to where you left Sakura.

You return to see her sitting on a bench nearby, with her face pale like she just saw a ghost. You rush to her immediately, concerned. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I lost my job.” She replies blankly.

“What the fuck?”

“Layoffs. They’ve given me 2 weeks to pack up.” She continues.

“Oh no, baby, I’m so sorry. Fuck that company, I know how hard you work there. Fuck them if they don’t value you.” Your palms catch her as she buries her face on your shoulder and starts sobbing softly, wetting your t-shirt. “I’m sure you’ll find a new job in no time. Anything you need to manage, I hope you know I’m here for you, right, baby?” You continue. Sakura simply nods her head in response. She cries for a while, and you sit there with her, comforting her and gently caressing her hair the whole time.

“Can we go home?” She asks through her sobs.

“Sure, your place or mine?”

”Mine’s closer, and I don’t want the entire world to see me crying, so that.” She says, trying to smile through her tears.

“You look cute crying too, you know? Wouldn't be that bad if everyone did see you.” You tease her.

“That’s no way to talk to a crying lady.” She playfully hits you again. “Sorry for that… by the way.” She says sheepishly, pointing to the wet spot on your tee from her tears.

“It’s alright, you’ll just have to buy me a new one.”

“I was planning to anyway; your fashion sense sucks ass.” Sakura pouts her head, looking at your clothes.

“Hey! I thought we were heading to your place. Let’s just go.” You huff, hold her wrist, and leave, and she follows behind you, laughing.

Her mood improves as you reach her place. “So I officially need to start applying for new companies now. I was planning to for a while, but this is the push I needed.”

“There you go, look at the positive. Hopefully, the new place will be better for you.” You pat her head.

She kisses you on the lips and replies. “I hope so too.”

“Now what say we hit the bedroom and forget about your stupid boss and your stupid company?”

Sakura looks at you with a twinkle in her eye. “Sounds like a plan.”

She doesn’t even wait for the bedroom door to close before pushing you onto her bed and getting on top of you. “Don’t know what I’d do without you, my sweet puff.”

You throw an arm around her neck, pulling her in close to the point you can feel her breath on your face. “Well, you had a job before you met me; maybe I’m the bad omen.” She pulls away and punches you in the nose, just the right intensity to make you regret saying that. “Ow… too soon?” She looks ready to go for round 2 before you quickly apologize; Sakura laughs as she brings her face back near yours, her lips brushing against yours before she closes the gap firmly.

Your hands find the back of her neck, caressing her just the way she likes it the most as you continue making out. It feels like the natural spot for your hands now, more natural than your own pockets. Her tongue asks for permission at your lips, and yours are more than happy to grant them as she enters your mouth.

She likes to take her time making out, and you can’t complain with how sweet her lips taste. Her hands start at your neck and trace a line down to your shirt, unbuttoning them faster than you knew was possible and throwing them off. The fact that she was making out with you while doing all this only makes it more impressive.

Her hands do not stop her descent, and she quickly reaches her intended destination. She spends about two seconds struggling with your pants before yanking them off and fishing your cock outside your underwear. “I missed this cute cock.” She bites her lip lightly and wraps her fingers around your cock.

“Woah, I thought we were going to make you feel good,” you kid. “We are. I’m now gonna take your place,” Her hand continues her lazy stroking of your cock, “and you’re going to use this and make me forget all about my stupid company.” As she commands, you gently flip her over, her face looking at you expectantly in the middle of her long hair spread across the bed. You do not wish to disappoint her. You help Sakura get her jeans off, and her impatience shows in how quickly her panties come off next.

Her hand rests on your chest, rubbing on you as you line up your cock with her hole. She bites her lip as you move inside her, moaning softly while she holds onto your shoulder, her nails biting into you. You would take it for Sakura. And her heavenly pussy. “Always love feeling you inside me.” She mutters, as you finish adjusting for her tightness and start moving.

You start with a slow pace, but even that is enough to drive Kkura to loud moans for you. Your hips lazily rocking back and forth as your cock moves deeper in her with each thrust. Her nails dig deeper into your shoulder, and her eyes do all they can to convey that she needs you to go faster. And you do. Her moans make you go crazy. The noises her pussy dripping with her fluids makes when you thrust into her make you go crazy. The way she looks at you asking, no, demanding that you fuck her till she can’t remember anything makes you go crazy.

Her cunt is just as tight as you last remembered, and you always make it a point to let her know, “Fuck Kkura. So fucking tight.”, and it only makes her clench harder. Her hips gently start moving in a rhythm with you, and you lean in close to her face to catch her lips. Deeply kissing her, your tongue goes inside her mouth now, possibly to mirror what your cock is doing to her pussy. Her moans are muffled by your mouth, and all her noises as a response to your cock railing her goes inside your mouth.

Her fingers escape your shoulder and find the inside of your palm instead. It’s something she always does when she falls for your cock; she likes to hold hands and intertwine your fingers with her tightly. Such an innocent thing to do while the dirtiest things are happening to her. You wrap your fingers around her palm too, which makes her sigh contentedly, in between her breathless moans.

She brings your palm up to her mouth, leaving you with only one hand on her waist for support to penetrate her cunt. She kisses your palm with the little energy she has left while her eyes still look up at you with lust. Sakura clenches her thighs, and you watch her breathing grow more and more erratic. “I’m getting close, babe.” She whispers and pulls at you to get closer to her, locking her legs behind you.

You oblige and get closer to her, your face mere inches above hers, and she shuts your lips by pulling you in all the way to hers. You finish into her with one final thrust, Sakura grasping the sheets tightly, finishing with you. Your load fills up her cunt, and the way she’s clenching with her legs locked behind you, you have no other choice even if you wanted to. She finally rests, rubbing your hair gently with her palm, “I love you so much.” You reply that you love her too.

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Scene - IV

Minjeong waits outside your room, peeking through the slightly ajar door. She hesitates, unsure whether to interrupt as you moodily stare at the picture of Sakura on your nightstand. You shove it in your drawer and bang it shut. Minjeong decides this is a good time to interrupt instead of letting you stew in your own mess.

“Dinner’s ready; come quick!” she shouts while running back to the kitchen, pretending she wasn’t tracking you for the past few minutes. You, none the wiser, leave your room to find her in the kitchen with a skillet in her hand, the dim light above the stovetop illuminating her figure in an almost angelic way. She serves you your favorite dinner, something she admittedly hates to cook, which is enough for you to determine how bad she feels for you right now.

“Hope you’re not gonna blame me for making you talk to her the first time.”

“I absolutely do, fucker. I miss her. I made a mistake. Fuck it, I made plenty of mistakes.” “Do you think you can go back to her now?” She looks at you with concern, which is not a common occurrence. Seeing you at a loss for words, she continues, “You should think well and make a proper decision.” Right—because thinking things through hadn’t crossed your mind before. Still, you know she means well, and you opt for a “Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

Besides, the way things were going, there weren’t many things she could say. She tries to take you out once in a while to make you forget about Sakura, but not with too much success. It doesn’t help that most of the hangout spots nearby are the places you used to go with Sakura. She suggested the idea of a vacation to get you in a different headspace for once, but work was always a bitch. Just as Minjeong is about to give up and return to her room, your phone buzzes with a message. The sender’s name is the last one she would have wanted to show up.

Her eyes suddenly wake up as she watches you rub your fingers hastily with the nearby tablecloth. They stare at you, demanding you keep your phone down and ignore the message, which you wholeheartedly ignore, unlocking your phone to read what Sakura had sent faster than you’d read anything before. Minjeong shouts at you to sit the fuck down and finish your meal as she sees you getting up from the table, all of which blur into background noises for you, finally giving up when she spots you grabbing your coat to leave the house.

She sighs and retreats to the kitchen with the plate in her hand. If you were going to meet her in the park (which you likely were), she could see it from the kitchen window. At least it would be good entertainment for her dinner, even if it was at your own expense. She fiddles with her spaghetti before taking a bite. As expected, she soon spots Sakura walking down the park road in a white shirt and formal pants, likely coming straight from the office. Spring has recently arrived, and the white flowers lining the footpath seem to mirror the lady’s outfit.

Minjeong pats her fork on the kitchen table as she sees you sitting on the park bench, pretending to not recognize her footsteps coming from behind. She knows you’ve heard Kkura’s footsteps enough to recognize it even in a dream. She sees Sakura tap your shoulder, and you look up at her like a stranger. The convo starts off stiff, unlike how she’s ever seen you two talk before. That changes soon enough, and the convo ends with the two of you in each other's arms. Her spaghetti is finished, and Minjeong concludes, so is her drama show as she gets to washing the dishes.

She is about to tuck in for the day when she notices you signaling something to her from the road just below your house. You point to your phone, asking her to read your messages. Minjeong opens her phone to a single message from you:

”Forgot a keychain in my nightstand… can you bring it downstairs?”

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[theskywithin]

Why Love Feels So Hard, Based on Your Natal Chart

Love isn’t just hearts and poetry. Sometimes, it’s a mirror. Sometimes, it’s a storm. Some souls come into this life with love that is effortless, gentle, uncomplicated. Others come with lessons to learn, cycles to break, wounds to heal. If love has felt like a battle, a question, or a wound that never quite closes, your birth chart may hold the answer.

Venus-Saturn Aspects: (Especially conjunction, square, or opposition)

There is something about love that feels distant, delayed, or just out of reach. Maybe you were never taught how to receive love. Maybe love always comes with conditions, if you work hard enough, if you prove yourself, if you hold yourself together no matter how much it hurts.

People with this aspect often experience early heartbreak, abandonment wounds, or relationships where they feel unworthy. They may attract partners who are cold, unavailable, or emotionally distant, not because they don’t deserve love, but because they are learning how to believe they do.

✨ Your lesson: Love is not a debt to be repaid, a task to complete, or a reward for perfection. You do not have to prove you are worthy of it. You already are.

Venus-Pluto Aspects: (Especially conjunction, square, or opposition)

You don’t just love, you merge, burn, destroy, resurrect. Love is not a soft place for you. It’s a wildfire, a black hole, a gravitational pull that you can’t resist, even when you know it will ruin you.

You attract relationships that dig into your deepest fears. Betrayal, obsession, jealousy, power struggles, these are not coincidences, but karmic lessons. You are here to learn how to love without losing yourself, without breaking yourself to keep someone else.

✨ Your lesson: Love should transform you, but it should not consume you. Let go of the belief that suffering is proof of love. Love should heal, not hurt.

Venus-Uranus Aspects: (Especially conjunction, square, or opposition)

You love like lightning, intense, electric, and gone before you can hold onto it. Maybe it’s you who runs, maybe it’s them. Maybe you crave love, but the moment it feels too predictable, too steady, too certain, something inside you resists.

You may find yourself in relationships that start with a spark but fade fast. Or in love with someone who is always out of reach, physically, emotionally, or both. Commitment feels suffocating, yet loneliness feels unbearable.

✨ Your lesson: Love does not have to be chaotic to be exciting. You can have love that is both freeing and grounding. Do not mistake stability for stagnation.

Venus-Neptune Aspects: (Especially conjunction, square, or opposition)

You fall in love with ghosts, illusions, and ideas of people rather than who they truly are. Love, for you, is a dream, beautiful, intoxicating, but often unreal. Maybe you see the best in people. Maybe you give too much. Maybe you fall for potential rather than reality.

With this aspect, love often comes with disillusionment, heartbreak, or one-sided devotion. You attract unavailable people, not because you enjoy suffering, but because your soul is learning how to see love clearly.

✨ Your lesson: Love is not meant to be chased or sacrificed for. Let yourself be loved in the real world, not just in your fantasies.

Moon-Saturn Aspects: (Especially conjunction, square, or opposition)

You grew up believing that your emotions were too much, that love had to be earned through self-sacrifice, that no one would stay if you weren’t strong.

People with this aspect often feel unloved, unseen, or emotionally repressed. Relationships can feel like emotional deserts, partners who cannot give you what you need, or the inability to express your own desires.

This placement often brings delayed love, real love comes later in life, after deep healing. But when it comes, it is stable, lasting, and worth the wait.

✨ Your lesson: Love is not a burden. You deserve love that nurtures, supports, and stays.

Moon-Pluto Aspects: (Especially conjunction, square, or opposition)

Your emotions don’t just run deep, they run into the underworld. Love, for you, is never lighthearted. It’s raw, transformative, a collision of desire and destruction.

You attract relationships that force you to confront your fears of abandonment, of betrayal, of losing yourself in someone else. You don’t love softly, you love like a hurricane, a fire, a secret you don’t dare say out loud.

People with this aspect often experience deep emotional wounds from childhood, which replay in their relationships until they face them head-on. Love, for you, is both your deepest wound and your greatest source of power.

✨ Your lesson: Love does not have to be a battlefield. Let love heal you instead of break you.

Venus in the 12th House:

You love quietly, secretly, in the spaces between words. Love, for you, often feels like a dream you once had but can’t quite remember. You long for something you cannot name.

This placement often brings hidden or unspoken love. Relationships that are secret, forbidden, or left unfinished. You may love people from a distance, fall for those you can’t have, or feel like love is something you must sacrifice.

But Venus in the 12th House also carries a deep soulmate energy. Love, for you, is something ancient, something that transcends lifetimes. When you find the right love, it will feel like something you lost long ago finally finding its way back home.

✨ Your lesson: Love does not have to be hidden or sacrificed. Let yourself be fully seen.

Neptune in the 7th House:

You are a dreamer in love, but dreams are not always reality. You see people through rose-colored glass, fall in love with their potential rather than their truth.

Neptune in the 7th House can bring romantic illusions, unrequited love, or relationships that slip through your fingers like smoke. You may attract people who are mysterious, unavailable, or who leave without warning.

But this placement also gives you the ability to love unconditionally. To see the best in people. To believe in something greater than just ordinary love.

✨ Your lesson: Love is not about fantasy. See people for who they are, not who you want them to be.

South Node in the 7th House:

Love, for you, is familiar. Too familiar. Every relationship feels like you’ve been here before, like you are repeating something that happened lifetimes ago.

You attract lovers who feel like unfinished stories. People who enter your life with intensity, only to leave just as quickly. Love can feel fated, magnetic, but also draining, as if it is keeping you from something else.

This placement often indicates past-life connections, love that is beautiful but heavy, karmic but unfinished. You may feel like relationships are holding you back, keeping you in the past instead of moving you forward.

✨ Your lesson: Love is not meant to repeat itself forever. Let go of what was, so you can step into what could be.

♾️ Karmic Aspects:

Certain aspects indicate karmic love, souls that have met before, unfinished business, love that feels fated but difficult. These relationships feel undeniable, magnetic, and often painful.

💜 South Node conjunct Venus or Mars – A lover from a past life. Familiar, intense, but rarely meant to last. This love teaches you what to release.

💜 Vertex conjunct Venus or the Descendant – A destined meeting. Fated, unavoidable, but often fleeting. This love shifts your life in ways you never expected.

💜 Chiron in the 7th House or conjunct Venus – Love as a wound and a healer. This placement brings deep pain in love, but also the opportunity for profound healing.

💜 Saturn conjunct the Descendant or Venus – The relationship that feels like fate, but requires immense effort and maturity. If both souls evolve, this can be a lifelong bond.

[fireinmoonshot]

home safe | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: Joaquín's friends call you to come and pick him up after a night out at the bar where he can't stop talking about you. Warnings: Mentions of drinking, being drunk and alcohol. Word Count: 1.5k A/N: I saw a TikTok where a golden retriever boyfriend got so excited when he saw his girlfriend turn up at the bar and my first thought was 'That's so Joaquín' so here this is 😂 Enjoy 💗

Making the most of a rare Friday night alone, you’re about to crack open a new tub of ice cream when your phone buzzes on the counter beside you. With a sigh, you set down the spoon you’d been planning on digging into the ice cream with, and pick up your phone to read the message.

You assume that it’s going to be from Joaquin. He’d gone out to attend the Bachelor Party of one of his best friends, leaving you home alone. He hated to go – he’d said at least twenty times that he wished you could come with him, but he understood that you needed time apart and that it was crucial to a healthy relationship to do things alone. But regardless, he always felt like something was missing when you weren’t there.

He’d also assured you that when he was ready to come home, he’d send you a text so that you could come and pick him up. He’d promised he wouldn’t stay too late, knowing that you would want to try and get a good night sleep as usual and he didn’t want you to have to go to bed without him. With Joaquin, you knew you could trust his word on that.

As you look at your phone, though, you’re surprised to see that the message isn’t from Joaquin, but from Eddie, one of his friends who was also attending the Bachelor Party.

Joaquin is ready when you are… seriously… save us…

You laugh a little as you read his message and quickly type out a reply. I’m almost tempted to leave you guys to deal with him for even longer. But I’ll head out shortly :) 

A little disappointed, you move to put the ice cream back in the freezer. It was going to have to wait until another night now. There’s only one reason why Eddie would be texting you – Joaquin had had too many drinks and was being his usual drunken self, somehow more extroverted than he already was. If anyone thought Joaquin couldn’t shut up when he was sober, then they’d never seen him drunk.

It doesn’t take you too long to get your things together and leave the house. You’ve changed out of your comfy clothes and put on something semi-presentable, knowing you’ll likely have to go inside the bar to bring your boyfriend out, and are in the car on your way towards the bar not long after. 

You send Eddie a text as you walk towards the bar. Whereabouts are you guys?

He surprisingly doesn’t take too long to reply. I’ll come to the front door and get you so you don’t get lost. It’s pretty packed in here. You’d probably hear us before you saw us.

You snort at his message, knowing it’s true, and head into the bar. Eddie is right – the bar is bustling, as expected for a Friday night. There are people everywhere, music pumping through the speakers and you wonder how anyone could have an enjoyable time here without wearing some pretty serious earplugs.

Someone calls out your name and you turn to see Eddie, standing not too far away from you. He beckons you over with a smile and then greets you with a quick hug. All of Joaquin’s friends love you and consider you as much of a friend to them as he is.

“Thanks for coming so fast,” Eddie says as the two of you start to walk back to where he’d come from. “Joaquin… he seriously has not shut up about you since we got here. You’d think that he was the one getting married instead of Mateo.”

You smile to yourself at the thought. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, we’re not,” you say, amused. “I’m sure that it’s just the alcohol though. You and I both know how he gets.”

Eddie laughs. “He hasn’t even had that much to drink compared to some of us.”

As you get closer towards the table where the rest of the group are, you can hear their laughter and loud voices just as Eddie had said. You hear Joaquin’s laugh and instantly smile as you finally lay eyes on him. His cheeks are a little flushed from the alcohol and the smile on his face sets butterflies off in your stomach. 

You can see when he spots you in the crowd just from the way his eyes light up. His jaw drops and then morphs into a grin that takes over his entire face. “Angel!” Joaquin’s voice is loud, impressively so. Despite the loud music, several people turn their heads to look at him.

Before you can even take one more step closer to him, Joaquin is up and away from the booth, running towards you and barrelling straight into you. He picks you up, spinning you around in a circle as you laugh. You’re pretty sure he’s never been happier to see you.

“Angel, what are you doing here?” He exclaims, setting you down on the ground again. 

You laugh, resting your arms over his shoulders. “I was requested to come and pick you up,” you say, meeting Eddie’s eyes. “Apparently my boyfriend couldn’t stop talking about me? And I’m pretty sure Mateo is the one who’s meant to be talking about his girlfriend all night instead of you, baby.”

Joaquin looks over his shoulder at his friends. “You guys called in reinforcement?” He says, pretending to be shocked as if he’s not extremely happy to see you. “Listen, Mateo has been talking plenty about his soon to be wife so I figured it was only fair I add in my share.”

Over at the booth, you hear Mateo snort. “I’ve heard you say your girl’s name so many more times than I’ve said mine, Joaquin,” he calls. “Thanks for coming to save us, by the way. We love spending time with your man but I think he loves you more.” His voice is amused.

“You’re so welcome,” you call back. 

Joaquin moves to stand beside you, but he still wraps an arm around your waist, becoming his touchy self again now that you’re here. You’re surprised to see that he isn’t actually as drunk as you had been expecting. Clearly, though, the few drinks he had consumed had made him insufferable enough to his friends.

“Are you guys kicking me out or something?” Joaquin says beside you, pouting a little as he looks over at his friends. “Man, I thought we were having a good night. It’s not even midnight yet!” 

Not that he’s disappointed at the fact that this means he can go home and spend the rest of the night curled up in bed with you… in fact, out of the two scenarios that one is definitely the better sounding one.

“Nah, bro,” Eddie shakes his head. “I’m heading out too, so are a few of us. I just got a text from my girl and she’s waiting for me in the car outside. I promised her I wouldn’t stay out too late. She finds it harder to sleep without me now that she’s pregnant, apparently.”

The simple confirmation that Joaquin isn’t the only one leaving is enough to perk his mood right back up. He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’m just gonna go say bye to the guys and then we can go.” 

You nod, watching him as he heads over to say his goodbyes to everyone and send his well wishes to Mateo, since it’s the last time he’s going to see him before the wedding. It doesn’t take long, though, and soon enough he’s walking back over to you and taking your hand in his. All the boys yell their goodbyes to you as Joaquin leads you out of the bar.

Joaquin keeps hold of your hand while you leave the packed bar. He doesn’t let go even when you’re safely outside, happily trailing along behind you as you lead him over to where your car is parked.

“You know, when I saw you walk in tonight I was a little distracted,” Joaquin says as you stop beside the car and reach into your bag to get your keys out. “Mateo had just said somethin’ real funny and then I looked over and saw you and at first, I thought it couldn’t be you cause I knew you were at home. I just saw you and thought ‘Damn, that girl looks so much like my beautiful girlfriend.’”

“And then you realised it was me and basically jumped on me,” You chuckle, amused as you find the keys and unlock the car.

Joaquin places a hand on your hip. “Can you blame me for that, angel?”

You turn around and lean in to gently peck him on the lips. “I can’t,” you hum. “Now come on, it’s time to get you home and sober you up a bit.”

He smiles and leans in to open the car door for you. He might be a little drunk but he’s still a gentleman who can open the car door for his girlfriend. Once he’s inside, he rests a hand on your thigh as you pull away from the curb and head for home.

“Thanks for coming to get me, angel. Even if it kinda ruined your night alone.”

You glance over at him briefly to give him a reassuring smile. “Knowing that you’re coming home safe matters more to me than spending the rest of my night alone, baby.” 

[bluebirdsfeathers]

Her Office

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Relationship: Ceo!Wanda X Butch!Loser!Reader

Summary: Wanda tried to get to know you a bit better before you start working together but an innocent question bring out painful memories.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: age gap relationship (R is early 20s, W is like 40), Past verbal and physical abuse, Slight hinted at homophobia, Mommy issues bc i have them too, power imbalance?

A/N: sorry this took so long. uni is really kicking my butt right now and just when i thought i'd have time to write my research supervisor gives me a 400+ page book to read.

Inspiration

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

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──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

“I can’t believe you’re abandoning me… and for my sister!” Pietro joked as he helped you clear out your desk. You’d made yourself at home over the past few months working for him. You were sad to be leaving but excited to be working for Wanda, also incredibly nervous, like throw up into the recycling bin near the printer nervous. Not that that had happened of course.

“But seriously, we are going to miss you down here. Don’t go forgetting about us.” He patted you on the back handing you the last of your stuff.

“How could I forget you? I’ll be down here like every other day wont I? Wanda visits all the time.” you reply with slight confusion. Wanda was always coming down to check on things, like she must do with all the departments. You assumed most of your job would be to accompany her many visits around the building. Staying close and taking notes on what she says like you’d seen Theo do.

“Yeah, she definitely was just coming down here for routine check-ins.” Pietro mumbled with the faintest air of smugness of someone who knows something you don’t has. Before you could register what he said, the doors on the far side of the room swung open and in came Wanda.

 Her stride exuded confidence as she made her way over to you and your now empty desk. Her hair was slightly messy, shirt untucked, and instead of her usual high heels she wore flats.

“Got everything?” She sounded short of breath, like she had just been running. “The elevator to my office is being inspected so we’ll have to take the stairs.” Without another word, Wanda started walking back towards the door pausing to look behind her when she sensed you hadn’t moved. “Come on those 15 floors won’t climb themselves.” Suddenly her slightly dishevelled appearance made sense. You took a deep breath and gave one last look at Pietro, who seemed to be going to great lengths to not laugh at his sister, before following Wanda.

The stair well was in stark contrast to the rest of the building. Tall grey brick walls and bright white lighting. It seemed to also double as extra storage space judging by the stacks of boxes and pallets back here. You only seen them briefly while getting your monthly fire safety talks from a very unenthusiastic Dr. Banner, who once again felt the need to remind the group he had much more important things to be doing than this. As much as you found the man funny, he’s short temper made him a little scary at times.

People yelling had always been something you weren’t fond of. Your mom had always been so angry with you for not behaving like she wanted. The constant being told to sit, speak, and act ‘like a lady’ throughout your childhood had led to so many arguments. Femininity was just something you never had an interest in and the pressure to fit in from your family only made you reject it harder.

This never made the yelling easier, instead it had only made you desperate to avoid that sort of conflict. Wanda yelling the other day had scared you in a way you hadn’t felt since you were a child, and you were now desperate to make sure you were never on the receiving of her rage.

“Y/n, careful.” You had been so lost in thought you’d missed a step and stumbled forward. Wanda who had been talking non-stop about how inconvenient the elevator maintenance was stopped to help you pick up some pens that had fallen from the box you were carrying. “Do you need some help with that? It looks heavy.”

You saw this a challenge.

“No I’m fine, I’m very strong.” Wanda gave you a smile as she placed the pens back into the box touching your hand as she pulled away before turning around to continue climbing the stairs. Your face immediately flushed red.

“Only 4 more flights to go.” Her voice echoed off the bare walls was she turned another corner. You let out a sigh, the box was actually really heavy.

Once in her office you placed the box on an empty desk in the corner of the room. It was pushed up to the window and gave you an amazing view of New York. It was only then you realised how high up you were.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Wanda came up behind you making you jump slightly, all this achieved was making the red head chuckle slightly. “You’re so jumpy you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” You gave a small smile. Being alone with Wanda was terrifying and exciting all at once. The reality of the situation hadn’t really sunk in till just now. It was going to be the two of you, alone, very often from here out.

“Can I ask you something?” You nervously asked fiddling with the hem of your shirt not daring to look Wanda in the eyes. Her beautiful green eyes.

“Of course you can, darling.” Her final word rattled about in your brain momentarily making you forget what you even wanted in the first place.

“What you said, before,” Finally a coherent thought, “about wanting me, from the start. Was that true?”

“Yes, why would I lie.” Wanda raised an eyebrow giving you a no-nonsense look that you couldn’t if it was fully serious or not.

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I just, why didn’t you? You know, pick me the first time?” It was definitely a word salad that came out your mouth, thank God you were better at writing than speaking. “I’m sorry I don’t mean to pry…” you added after Wanda took a second to respond.

“No, no, don’t apologies…” She took a deep breath as if debating what to say. “That first day, I thought you had potential,” she began, clearly choosing her words carefully, “I just wanted to, see if you had what it takes to you know, be mine.”

“Be… yours.” The words caught in your throat as swallowed hard, struggling to speak.

“Be my intern, my assistant.” Wanda rushed to clarify but something inside you felt like her previous words were more honest. Not that you would dare push her on it. “And being my intern comes with a lot of responsibility, so I hope you are ready.”

“Yes ma’am.” You say saluting the older woman, who found the action quite amusing. “What do you need me to do first?”

Turns out Wanda didn’t want you to do anything just yet. Instead the two of you sat across from each other in the strange living room area of her office. Wanda lent back into a large leather armchair while you sat on the edge of the couch, almost velvety, black sofa.

She offered you a tea or coffee but instead you opted for the remnants of the energy drink you had tried to chug on the train this morning. Your choice in beverage clearly wasn’t approved by Wanda but she did little to stop you besides remind you of their negative health effects.

She asked you questions about yourself, clearly wanting to get to know you better but you held back from answering her questions too honestly, scared of being fired or disappointing her which was somehow worse in your head. They were all basic questions, and you asked some back at her.

She wanted to know about your favourite meal, how to you travel to work, where are you staying, and when you were going to get some proper work shoes. Your real answer being when they made comfortable ones but instead you opted to say when you get your next paycheck.

Then she asked something that caught you completely off guard. “How is your relationship with your family?”

“My family?” You repeat to make sure you were hearing things right.

“Yes, your family, you are one of the only interns not from a known family in the city, you mentioned you aren’t from New York originally, they must be proud of you?” Wanda spoke with a warm smile.

You hadn’t noticed but during the conversation you had leant back into the couch. It was like she had given you permission to relax for a change. You didn’t understand why but talking with Wanda made you feel comfortable, almost too comfortable at times making you need to remind yourself she was your boss.

“They umm,” your mind went to the argument you’d had with your father when you told him you were going to university miles away, almost across the entire country, “can we talk about something else.” Your voice shook slightly at the memory.

How angry he’d been, how angry he always was. The same with your mother, always so resentful, never protecting you from him. You spent your first semester coach surfing with a black eye till you had enough money to afford to rent a shitty little apartment.

“Sweetie, it’s okay.” Wanda had seemingly caught on that something was wrong and moved to sit next to you on the couch. She placed her arm around you and pulled you into a side hug that made your whole body tense. “For what it’s worth, I’ve seen your grades and watched how hard you work. I’m proud of you y/n.” Her voice had the same warmth as earlier, it was sickeningly genuine to you.

All you wanted to do was melt into her arms, but you couldn’t this was your boss. She was just being nice, there was no way she would let you get that close to her under regular circumstances. You told yourself you wouldn’t let yourself get attached. You’d seen how ruthless she could be, and it terrified you to think of being on the receiving end. Catching feelings would just make your eventual fuck up ever worse.

Besides there was no way in hell CEO Wanda Maximoff, multimillionaire Wanda Maximoff, Old enough to be your mother Wanda Maximoff would ever have feelings for you in return.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” You stood up as quickly as Wanda grip on you allowed. “Sorry.” You hurried to the small bathroom in the corner of the room, locking the door behind you before allowing yourself a moment to cry.

Cruel words from you parents fought the gentle reassurance Wanda had given you. You took a moment to collect yourself. Taking several deep breaths and trying to get rid of the redness in your eyes with a little cold water from the tab.

The bathroom, like everything in Wanda’s office screamed sophistication. The mostly white tiles with the smallest hint of red complemented the plush red hand towels, and several well looked after plants littered a shelf above the toilet. Most surprisingly was the shower and clawfoot tub in the room. Did she actually use them? Or where they just there because they could be?

Finally you were ready to leave the bathroom, stepping out you saw Wanda quickly look away from your direction. Had she been watching the door the whole time?

“Y/n, feeling better?” you gave a weak nod. “Good, right back to business then, first order is sorting out… this.” She pointed towards you clothing. Since Pietro had never required you to dress professionally, you had never updated your wardrobe. You wore the same baggy, teen boy esc clothing you always did.

“Yeah, I thought that would be a problem, sorry about the way I dress. I just…”

“No I like the way you dress.” Wanda cut you off. “I mean, you dress fine, it’s just not… appropriate if you are going to be accompanying me to important meetings and such.” You couldn’t tell if you were imagining it, but you could have sworn you saw a small blush creep onto the older woman’s face.

“Right, there should be a measuring tape in the third draw of the left cabinet in my office. I have some work to get on with you can’t help with.” Wanda began quickly pressing the button of the, hopefully, now working lift.

“I want you to measure yourself and note it down. I’ll sort you out some more work appropriate clothing.” Before you could ask any other follow up questions the doors to the lift opened and she rushed inside, disappearing almost immediately.

Walking into Wanda’s office you looked out at the city, everything seemed so quiet, so still from all the way up here. Grabbing the measuring tape you sat down at your desk, getting your phone out to look up exactly what measurement you need to give her. You’d never had to think about measurements when buying clothes before. Your face flushed a bit think about the idea of Wanda choosing you some clothes. Hopefully she wouldn’t put you in a pencil skirt, or God forbid heels.

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Tag list: @wandaslittlehorns @starfire1008 @mirage018 @viosblog112 @nebthetautora @ciaoooooo111 @cowboy-hunter @htinha157 @the-falling-avenger @reginassecretlover @canyonyodeler @mrsromanovaa @loneliestafterparty @imawandasimp @caramelcat123 @marvelwomen-simp @reginassweetheart @unadulteratedballoonduck @kei034 @coollemonsaresour 

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

a new dawn begins | m.g. x gn!reader

“y/n! i have the best news ever!” mark screamed over the phone, needing to pull it away from the ear for a moment. you smiled to yourself as you replied, “and whats this amazing news that you’re willing to break my eardrums for?”

“okay, uh, actually i gotta show you. it’s super secret, so i’ll be over in like two minutes.” and before you could say anything the line went dead and you just shook your head. as hyper and energetic still since middle school, just less scrapes and bruises now.

a soft tapping caught your ears, it happened two more times in a row before it was followed by, “y/n! open the window!” you were on the second floor without a tree near by. confusion covered your face as your slid the window up to stick your head out the frame and down at mark’s beaming face.

“you can’t get-“ and your sentence died off when mark started hovering above the ground and then all the way up to your window. face to face with you, you were speechless.

“guess who got their powers!” mark whispered with controlled enthusiasm. you knew about his dad being omniman, and marks mentioned in the past that he should develop them too, but holy shit, seeing it in person was so much different.

“can i come in?” mark asked hesitantly. you were still quiet, trying to process the image before you. taking slow steps away from the sill, mark pushed himself in and let his feet his solid ground again. he bit into his bottom lip while watching you.

“surprise. i mean a surprise for both of us, cause i thought i wasn’t ever gonna get them, but i get how it’s a huge surprise for you. i mean you hardly believed me when i told you my dad was a freaking superhero…” mark trailed off, either not knowing what else to say or now nervous by your unannounced reaction. “are-are you mad at-at me?”

that caused you to blink twice and give a quick shake of your head, hands waving in front of you. “of course not. nothing about this makes me angry, also i wouldn’t have the right to be angry about it anyway, im just…processing very slowly.” making your way to your bed and sitting on the edge.

mark stayed near your window, keeping a distance between the both of you at the moment. a hand snuck into the back of his hair while his eyes focused to the floor, “i’m-i’m still me. you know.”

a smile to your lips, “of course you are mark. i-i think it just hit me.” brows pinching in the middle, “you…you have powers. you’ll probably want to go help people and put yourself in danger, and that makes me…it makes me feel nervous.” you admitted.

neither of you said anything for a beat, then mark joined you, the mattress dipping with his added weight. “you know, i don’t think i really thought that far ahead. i just got so excited that i’ll be like my dad, this is something i can join him on. i can bench press like, a whole building. i can fly anywhere in the world.”

you were watching his profile, his eyes sparkling with wonder of new possibilities. then a slight frown appeared on his face, “but you’re right. i’ll want to help people, this feels like a responsibility. i can’t just have these powers and not help.”

“and that’s very brave and selfless of you.” touching his shoulder, “i-i just want you to remember that you’re family and friends, we want to see you alive and happy. if you ever just need a break, there’s other hero’s that can handle it for the day. you don’t need to break yourself to keep everyone else together.”

[makeroftherunes]

I had the opposite (kinda?) happen with me. My family trends conservative but not quite Tr*mp supporters. My mom and I are the only openly liberal voices and frankly it’s not always worth the fight or emotionally safe to do so.

My uncle (aunt’s husband) was born and bred in our local big city, set up with “stay at home and be a cop” mentality. He’s good old bud-light Americana. For a long time my mom and I wrote him off as someone we couldn’t change.

Then, last time we had a get-together, I decided I wasn’t going to just sit comfortably while my family talked veiled shit about people like me. And I was telling him “yeah I haven’t been sleeping well because of like, everything since January.”

And he looked at his plate and quietly said “I’ve barely slept since November. I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.” In the saddest tone I’ve ever heard him use. And it immediately reversed what I thought about him.

Your mom is doing a GREAT job. And I just wanted to say to anyone who sees this, follow her example. If you don’t talk to people in this situation, you won’t know how they feel. It’s to connect with, or protect against, their views. Like if you have a Cybertruck, I’m pretty fucking sure we don’t need to interact further. But if I hadn’t just talked to my uncle, I would’ve just brushed him off. And now we have something in common. Sure he still supports cops and doesn’t always understand pronouns and labels. But it’s something. And it’s one step we hadn’t taken before.

Call people out on their bullshit, and talk to people around you. Communication will lead to connection made, and sometimes broken. It’s up to you.

When my mother gets into facebook fights with her childhood friends who grew up to be racists, she passive-aggressively fucks with them by making a donation to a local refugee assistance organization in the name of their immigrant grandmothers, a donation large enough that they get a card from the organization saying so.   She passive aggressively fucks with the same demographic of friends who #bluelivesmatter by commenting with details about the various petty crimes they committed together as teens, e.g. “Wow Joey, where was all the respect for blue lives when we hotboxed your uncle’s patrol car?” 

And obviously both these approaches are specific to former juvenile delinquent turned UMC babyboomer but it feel still inspirational in that we can all find our own chaotic good pettiness niche. 

[oceantornadoo]

butcher!simon riley x bartender f!reader, a lil dark/dubcon smut

the one where simon never joins up, staying a butcher’s apprentice as he watches the people from his school grow up and leave. classmates gone, his father fucked off to somewhere, his mother and brother needing taking care of. work, eat, sleep, and of course, fuck.

everyone needs some stress relief. he’s running the shop now, the blood of animals practically burnt into his skin. got his own apprentice, a scrawny kid who can barely lift a knife, reminding him too much of tommy. that thought is how he ends up in a new pub on a different side of town and finds, of all things, you.

the bartender in a shitty hole in the wall. cursing at motorbikers and throwing out men who get to touchy, snaking their hands up your arm when you give them drinks. there’s a similar glint in your eye, callous and hardened but determined, having to make something of yourself to protect the ones you love. he sits at the corner table and he waits. like all kindred spirits, you find each other eventually.

he gets you off on your ten minute smoke break.

your chest smothered against the alley wall, jeans and panties ripped down in one go as his thick fingers find their way around. “ya let every man tha’ walks into yer bar do this?” simon grunts into your ear, his hand forceful on your jaw. you smirk, as much as you can with two fingers plunging in and out of your seeping hole. “only the ones that look sad enough. i like pity fucks.” for that comment, he stops his movement, thumb finding that tight little wrong hole.

“say no.” he presses in, barely, and you’re already scrambling out of his grip, wondering what the hell you got yourself into when you mentioned you were going for a smoke. “fuck you.” he grins, canines glinting under streetlights. “tha’s wha’ i’m tryin’ to do, sweet’art.” you arch your spine, trying to tempt him back to paying attention to your clit. “i’ve been working too hard all night to not come from this, simon. get back to work.” you spit out his name like there’s dirt in your mouth. he pulls out his fingers, ignoring your whine, and flips you around, bare ass against the wall.

“suck.” you do, obediently, bobbing your head up and down like you would his cock. your mouth opens with a pop as he peels his fingers out and right back into your pretty cunt. this time, his thumb finds your clit, small circles that are your undoing. your forehead falls to his shoulder, uncharacteristically intimate between two strangers, and you both watch his fingers move as you get closer and closer to the edge. he pinches your clit roughly and that’s the end of it, pleasure bursting through your veins as you come, mouth open against his clothed collarbone. “fuck.”

he yanks the waistband of your pants up and you nearly combust at the rough drag of your underwear against your sensitive cunt. he chuckles low when you jump, earning a glare as you step out of his grip. “i don’t have time to return the favor,” you warn, already two minutes over your allotted break. he shrugs like he has no problem with it. “got nowhere else to be, bird.”

he sits on that corner bench until the bar closes at 2am. he sits some more when you do a quick mop, not offering to help or lift a finger. by the time you’re done counting the till, it’s nearly 3 in the morning. your feet ache, there’s sweat everywhere, and the vodka cran someone spilled down your spine is still sticky. you don’t have the heart to tell him this when he offers to drive you home, content to murmur quiet street directions from the passenger seat.

simon shadows you as you unlock your apartment door, only kicking off his boots when you glare at him. he’s there when you take off your makeup in the bathroom and doesn’t move when you pointedly say you’re taking a shower. “leave the curtain open.” he replies. you huff as you wait for the water to warm up. “and who’s cleaning the water that’ll spill out?” he shrugs, and in anticipation of the steam, pulls off the black sweatshirt he’s wearing. his torso is a culmination of pale skin and healed scars and cigarette burns, tucked under a worn wife beater. too tired to argue, you strip and wash mechanically, leaving the curtain open. simon just watches, and although you can see the tent in his pants, doesn’t even touch his cock.

that changes when you get in bed. he strips down to his boxers and doesn’t let you explore, turning off the lamp before you can catalogue more. moonlight still glints through the blinds you need to fix, giving you a front show to how he gets to his knees in bed. you’re suddenly alert, afraid of the creature you dragged home.

simon doesn’t want to fuck you like this, so he tugs at the ratty shirt you’re wearing until he can see the pretty tits he saw in the shower. it quick, pulling down his boxers and tugging his cock dry until he spurts white stripes on your nipples, like a claiming. he strips off his wife beater and half-heartedly wipes you down before tugging the shirt back down. simon ignores your mouth, hanging half open, in favor of maneuvering you on top of his chest, your face in his neck.

“simon, i-“

“sleep, bird. gotta be up early ‘nough to fuck ya an’ get to work.”

you close your mouth and he feels you grind your jaw against his shoulder. simon squeezes your ass, almost hard enough to hurt, before leaving his hand there. a warning.

“sleep.”

after that, you’re never able to shake him off.

-

my masterlist here

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙤 𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙡𝙚 𝙭 𝙨𝙡𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

headcanons of mattheo with slytherin! reader

warnings: smut! praise kink. p in v. oral mentions. mentions of the dark lord and death eaters.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

⟡ ݁₊ .childhood friends to lovers

𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵

⟡ ݁₊ .mattheo was constantly surrounded by chaos. What with his father and the pressure of following into his footsteps, people judging him based on his last name, it seemed like every where he went there was a constant theme that everyone hated him.

⟡ ݁₊ .expect for you.

⟡ ݁₊ .you and mattheo had known each other since you were both little. With your parents being extremely loyal, power hungry death eaters, and his father being the one and only dark lord. you two had been pushed together.

⟡ ݁₊ .mattheo didn’t mind your presence at all, and actually found that within the chaos of the storm, you were something constant. every death eater meeting, you were there. every influential party, you were there.

⟡ ݁₊ .and even though you knew the background that mattheo came from, saw the monster that was his father, you didn’t hate him. you were his friend.

⟡ ݁₊ .”i think you’re the only friend i have somedays.”

⟡ ݁₊ .and despite the fact that you came from somewhere that was surrounded by darkness, you always seem to have your own shine. like no one could ever take it away from you. even when you were young mattheo noticed that you didn’t change for anything.

⟡ ݁₊ .you were so uncharacteristically yourself, all the time. even when draco malfoy said it was stupid to like juice boxes, you didn’t care. even when people looked at you funny because of your surname, you didn’t dwell.

⟡ ݁₊ .your shine was your own, which granted you the nickname, emerald. something unique and yet could take your breath away in an instant.

⟡ ݁₊ .”you’re worth more than any diamond, emerald.”

⟡ ݁₊ .”matt- you’re eleven- stop watching the muggle hallmark channel”

⟡ ݁₊ .”…no”

⟡ ݁₊ .even as you both grew older, old enough to go to diagon alley to purchase your materials for your first year at hogwarts. you didn’t turn away.

⟡ ݁₊ . in fact, it was your family that brought mattheo along in the first place. voldemort couldn’t just come out into the public just to take his son to get a wand and a cauldron, that was beneath him. so your family swooped him in.

⟡ ݁₊ .as a child, mattheo wasn’t cocky, or arrogant, or even really mean. he was quiet, cold, and reserved. but that was only because of the world that he had been involved in. something dark engraved in his bones.

⟡ ݁₊ .”they’re staring…”

⟡ ݁₊ .”don’t worry, it’s because we’re cool, and they are not.”

⟡ ݁₊ .but as mattheo felt your hand coming to squeeze his. a silent comfort that he wasn’t alone. he felt that darkness that lingered in his chest ease, and just for a moment he felt like all of the other kids.

⟡ ݁₊ .your friendship didn’t stop when you both entered hogwarts either. both of you being sorted into slytherin had been pretty obvious, and although people kept sneering in your direction out of disgust. wondering how you could associate yourself with someone like him, he was grateful to have you by his side.

⟡ ݁₊ .throughout your years at hogwarts, you didn’t turn away. you, in fact, stayed by mattheo’s side. so much so that everyone always grouped you together. two peas in a pod, two people who knew exactly what each other were feeling based on just a glance, and unspoken language just for you two.

⟡ ݁₊ .it wasn’t until when you all had returned to hogwarts for your fourth year when things started to change.

⟡ ݁₊ .you and mattheo spent the summer apart. your parents had brought you to Romania in order to visit some family. so the two of you hadn’t seen each other in months. of course, the two of you wrote to each other none stop. him mostly complaining about malfoy, while you sent pictures of your journeys. but no letter, no picture, no warning could have prepped mattheo for when he next saw you.

⟡ ݁₊ .as you stepped onto the platform, eagerly looking for your best friend, and finally spotting him with theo and enzo, you rush over to him before crushing him into a hug.

⟡ ݁₊ .and that’s when he felt that you were different. he realized… you had grown.

⟡ ݁₊ .mattheo had always thought you were pretty, but this was a whole new level. you had grown. like gone through puberty, and you didn’t look like a little girl anymore. you didn’t look like the kid who always wanted to look for fairies outside, or the kid who constantly fell off their training broom. no, you looked like a grown woman. what with your new curves and chest that mattheo (who was also going through changes making his hormones go crazy) was trying very hard not to look at.

⟡ ݁₊ .”your friend got hot”

⟡ ݁₊ .”shut up theo”

⟡ ݁₊ .but mattheo wasn’t the only one who noticed, suddenly everyone else had noticed your changes too.

⟡ ݁₊ .boys started flirting with you, constantly, so much so that mattheo considered going around to threaten each and everyone of them who thought they had a chance. none of them did. none of them deserved the treasure that you were, not even mattheo himself.

⟡ ݁₊ .so mattheo kept his feelings hidden for two years. he thinks that they had always been there under the surface, but as he watches you go off on dates and flirt with other guys, he feels like he missed his chance.

⟡ ݁₊ .mattheo finally found the courage to tell you how he felt. how he felt like you were the only good thing that had kept him afloat for so long, that even though they were only sixteen, he can’t imagine his life without you. how he can’t stand anyone else looking at you like you belong to them, because you didn’t, you were his.

⟡ ݁₊ .you had been crying on one of the staircases, adrian pucey had completely stood you up on your date. you were heart broken, and the sight of your tears didn’t help the words that flowed out of mattheos mouth.

⟡ ݁₊ .”you deserve better than this emerald, you are a gem in a pile full of coal.” he would start out.

⟡ ݁₊ .”we’ve been side by side since we were kids, and i always thought that was enough. that having you as my best friend would be all i ever needed. but somewhere along the way, that changed. you became more than just the person i could always count on. you became the one i look for in every room, the one whose laugh stays in my head long after you’re gone. i’ve always been yours, emerald, and i want you to be mine.”

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪���

⟡ ݁₊ .i don’t think a whole lot would change at first when you guys started dating, after all you were friends first. Jokes continued as normal, conversations continued as normal. i mean you were getting every girls dream of dating your best friend.

⟡ ݁₊ .but there would be some things that were kind of awkward at first. like the first time you both held hands in a romantic sense, both of your hearts beating out of your chest with nerves. or when you wore his quidditch jersey and it made him want to kiss you in the middle of the field. then there was sleepovers.

⟡ ݁₊ .you and mattheo used to sleep over all the time as friends, but now that you both were dating…

⟡ ݁₊ .”are you sure we can sleep together?”

⟡ ݁₊ .”why not? we’ve done it before”

⟡ ݁₊ .”well that’s when we were friends, now we’re dating. what if people think that we’re doing things?”

⟡ ݁₊ .”we can do those things if you want, you know if people are already saying it”

⟡ ݁₊ .”matt…”

⟡ ݁₊ .”okay okay, sorry”

⟡ ݁₊ .but you both would be a total power couple.

⟡ ݁₊ .people both respected and feared your relationship, they moved out of your way when they saw the both of you walking down the corridor with his hand around your waist.

⟡ ݁₊ .he was cunning in his own loud way. fists flying, hexes being thrown, he made sure to leave his mark on people that crossed him.

⟡ ݁₊ .you on the other hand, were a little quieter about your ambition and determination. but just as ruthless as your man.

⟡ ݁₊ .”heard that that ravenclaw that tried to hit me on me is in the hospital wing”

⟡ ݁₊ .”oh no, what a shame”

⟡ ݁₊ .”heard someone hexed her to throw up slugs…”

⟡ ݁₊ .”sounds tragic”

⟡ ݁₊ .”emerald, you have that spell highlighted in your notes…”

⟡ ݁₊ .”are you accusing me of something, riddle?”

⟡ ݁₊ .”…no”

⟡ ݁₊ .but despite your willingness to poison someone with slugs, mattheo loved you more than anything in this world.

⟡ ݁₊ . he could feel it when it was just the two of you sitting at the black lake in a comfortable silence. he could feel it defended him without a second thought. he could feel it when you fell asleep on his shoulder after long nights of studying. he could feel it when he looked at you playing wizarding chess with blaise, watching as the twinkle in your eye grew as your piece demolished his, he swears he can’t imagine anyone else in his future.

⟡ ݁₊ .”i’m gonna make you my fucking wife, emerald.”

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘹

⟡ ݁₊ .i believe that because you and mattheo had been friends for so long, you all shared a lot of firsts with each other.

⟡ ݁₊ .you both shared your first kiss with each other back in the second year because you were curious what had felt like. it was quick and both of you pulled away after three seconds.

⟡ ݁₊ .you both would be each others firsts. you were nervous about sex, i mean who isn’t? and you had wanted it to be special, so you went to your best friend.

⟡ ݁₊ .he would’ve choked on the pumpkin juice that he was drinking when you had asked him. but as he looked into your eyes to see how nervous you actually were about the subject, he couldn’t say no.

⟡ ݁₊ .at this point, mattheo would swear up and down that he didn’t have feelings for you. but then he found himself going out of his way to make your first time special.

⟡ ݁₊ .he bought candles, he changed his sheets, he enchanted his room to smell nice, he even picked out sweats and a towel for if you wanted to shower and stay the night. he was determined to make you feel good, to make you feel safe.

⟡ ݁₊ .both of you were nervous as hell. but then again, you wouldn’t have chosen anyone better to do this with.

⟡ ݁₊ .”are you sure, emerald, because we can-“

⟡ ݁₊ .”i am sure, i trust you matt”

⟡ ݁₊ .the two of were a mess. fumbling as you took each others clothes off, giggling as his hands brushed against the sensitive spots of your skin, both of your bodies flushed when you were both bare.

⟡ ݁₊ .”just tell me if you need me to stop, emerald”

⟡ ݁₊ .as he guided himself into your core, you wince. trying to adjust to the new feeling, your eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you try to relax.

⟡ ݁₊ .“you’re doing so good emerald, just relax for me, baby”

⟡ ݁₊ .the more he filled you ears with his sweet words, the more you started to relax around him, it almost made him groan out loud at how tight you were.

⟡ ݁₊ .he moved slowly, waiting until your face went from scrunched up, to looking less tense. his hands coming to the backs of your thighs as he wrapped them around his waist.

⟡ ݁₊ .”such a good girl emerald, taking all of me”

⟡ ݁₊ .it was during your first time, in the midst of your face flushing even more and your pussy absolutely soaking his cock, is when he realized- you had a praise kink.

⟡ ݁₊ .when you both started to have sex in your actual relationship, he made sure to use that information to his advantage.

⟡ ݁₊ .mattheo often felt out of control in life, everything was planned for him, everyone already had decided their impressions of him. so he decided to take control in a place where he felt comfortable, in the bedroom.

⟡ ݁₊ .you didn’t mind, in fact, you welcomed his dominance because you would melt into a pile of submission every time he praised you.

⟡ ݁₊ .”look at you, so eager to please me. fuck, emerald, open your mouth more.”

⟡ ݁₊ .his fingers would lace in your hair, not enough to hurt you, but enough to where he could push his dick down your throat. watching as you looked up at him with those eager-to-please eyes.

⟡ ݁₊ .”such a pretty girl, my gorgeous, gorgeous girl”

⟡ ݁₊ .he loved your tits. he loved them in a bra, in a shirt, in a swimsuit, his favorite is bare, of course, but no matter the way, he loved them. always finding some excuse to get his hands on them.

⟡ ݁₊ .”come on baby, show me how those pretty tits move when you bounce on my cock”

⟡ ݁₊ .despite the long, awaited journey of you two finally getting together, mattheo knows he wouldn’t have it any other way. you were the only person in the world that he truly felt safe with, you were his person, his safe space, his everything. you had been when you were nine, and now you would be for eternity.

⟡ ݁₊ .”i love you, emerald, always have and i always will. there’s no universe, no lifetime, where my heart wouldn’t chose you.”

[shizuturnspages]

Imagine yandere diluc, ayato, wriothesly, zhongli with an oblivious reader who wasn't aware that they're in a relationship with them like they thought they were best friends. They live together and basically do the most couple things and believe that they were best buddies

Love your writing, stay healthy no pressure from me if you don't want to write this

🩷🩷🩷

More Than Just Friends

Synopsis: You were just friends. At least, that’s what you always told yourself. Living together? Best friends do that. Sharing food? Nothing unusual. Sleeping in the same bed when it got too cold? Just something friends did for comfort! You never questioned the way they always touched you so casually—brushing your hair back, adjusting your collar, holding your wrist when you walked together. Or how they always knew everything about you—what you liked, where you were, who you spoke to. You never noticed how their eyes darkened when others got too close. Because to you, they were just your best friend. But to them, you were theirs. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Diluc, Ayato, Wriothesley, Zhongli x Oblivious Reader

Diluc – The Overprotective 'Best Friend'

Living with Diluc Ragnvindr was like sharing a home with a protective older brother—at least, that’s how you saw it. He had always been a little overbearing, a little too invested in your well-being, but you assumed that’s just how he was.

After all, wasn’t it normal for friends to:n

Cook every meal for you to make sure you "stay healthy"?

Escort you home every day because "Mondstadt isn’t always safe"?

Casually mention that you don’t need to date anyone because "you have me"?

You figured it was just his way of looking out for you.

"Hey, Diluc," you called out one evening as he handed you a steaming cup of dandelion wine. "Have you ever thought about getting a girlfriend?"

The silence in the room was deafening.

The redhead froze, his usually composed expression unreadable.

"I don’t need one," he finally said, voice eerily calm. "I already have you."

You snorted. "Yeah, yeah, but imagine if you did. You’re kind, responsible, and—"

He set his glass down with a little too much force.

"Why would I need anyone else when we already live together?"

"Uh... because we’re best friends?" you replied, confused.

His eyes darkened. "Friends?"

"Yeah? Best friends?"

Diluc let out a soft sigh, shaking his head. "Of course," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "You’re so innocent."

You didn’t understand what he meant. But the look in his eyes sent an odd shiver down your spine.

Ayato – The Sweet but Possessive Companion

"You’re acting like my boyfriend."

The words were spoken in passing, a joke, a tease.

But Ayato froze.

His gaze locked onto yours, something dangerous flickering beneath the usual warmth.

"Am I not?"

You laughed, brushing off his words. "Of course not, silly! We’re just roommates. Best friends! Partners in crime!"

The way his jaw tensed should have been a warning.

Best friends. Roommates.

No. No.

You belonged to him.

You didn’t notice how no one ever got too close to you in the Kamisato Estate. How people avoided even looking at you when Wriothesley was near.

How every single letter addressed to you was intercepted before it ever reached your hands.

You were his.

And one day, he’d make sure you understood.

Even if it meant locking you away forever.

Wriothesley – The Overly Attentive ‘Roommate’

Living with Wriothesley was a mix of comfort and mild confusion.

For one, he always insisted on walking you everywhere.

"Fortress of Meropide can be dangerous," he’d say. "Better safe than sorry."

"But we’re just going to the marketplace?" you asked one day.

He tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Doesn’t matter. I’d rather be with you."

And that wasn’t all.

You had noticed how he touched you—not in a way that felt inappropriate, but in a way that seemed… too familiar.

An arm around your waist when guiding you through a crowd.

A hand resting on your shoulder when he spoke to you.

And the way he pulled you into a hug just a little too often.

One evening, as you were sipping tea, you sighed dramatically. "Wrio, we should get matching rings."

The way he stilled should have clued you in.

"Matching rings?" he repeated, voice slow.

"Yeah! Friendship rings! To show we’re best buds!"

There was a long pause before he chuckled, but there was something… off about it.

"That’s not a bad idea," he said, grinning to himself.

You didn’t know that the "friendship rings" you had unknowingly suggested were actually engagement rings in Fontaine tradition.

And he wasn’t planning on correcting you.

Zhongli – The Devoted ‘Friend’

Zhongli had always been exceptionally caring, going above and beyond for you.

At first, you thought it was just how he was.

He always pulled out your chair before you sat down.

He always remembered your favourite foods, ensuring they were prepared daily.

He always gave you soft, lingering looks, as if watching over something precious.

You had assumed it was just his nature.

That was, until one day, you joked, "I can’t wait to meet my future partner!"

Zhongli’s tea cup stopped midair.

He set it down gently, too gently.

"Future partner?" he echoed, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah! You know, when I get married someday."

His amber eyes seemed to darken.

"You speak as if you do not already belong to someone."

You furrowed your brows. "I don’t?"

He sighed, a patient but warning look in his gaze.

"Y/N," he said softly, too softly.

"Has it never occurred to you why we live together? Why I dote on you so?"

"Yeah, because we’re best friends!" you chirped.

The silence that followed was so loud.

Zhongli only smiled, though something in his gaze sharpened.

"You are too naïve, my dear," he murmured, almost fondly.

But you would learn soon.

Because whether you understood it now or not, you were already his.

[belovedenzo]

the kings of hogwarts // slytherin boys headcanons

various headcanons; appearance/style, social stance/relationships , pet peeves, favorite things, fun facts.

characters; Theodore Nott, Mattheo Riddle, Lorenzo Berkshire, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zambini, Tom Riddle

words; 3.7k

warnings; cussing, sfw other than that? I think? suggestive maybe

notes; these are all my opinions so if they aren't accurate to you that's okay! If you want more various headcanons, comment some ideas and i'll make it happen :). please enjoy! reposts, likes and comments keep me motivated to make more. thank you guys for all the love on my other stories so far!

taglist; just tagging people I like! If u don’t want to be tagged please lmk! @shyamanuensis @riddlesbunny @redeemingvillains @nottsamor @nottsbaby @nottsluvv @nottsangel @riddleswhcre @enzosbabyangel @enzoberkshiresonly-deactivated2 @nottslove @nemesyaaa @obsessedwithceleste @prythiansprincess @anawritez-posts @riddlesrizzler

Theodore Nott

appearance/style;

6ft1

broad with decent muscle tone 

light chartreuse eyes

Few scattered freckles. Iconic freckle below left eye 

Light brown hair with body

A natural kubrick stare with a twist of gentleness

Sharp incisors

innocent smiles and shy grins (it’s a stick up)

doesn’t wear a lot of jewelry- occasionally a ring on his left hand

Outside of his uniform he sticks to simple colors for his clothes- beige, black, white, tan, navy, dark brown, etc.

Definitely gold over silver 

Always wearing the nicest shoes- shoes are his favorite accessory

Watch on the right arm when it’s a fancy event because he’s left handed

Wears a lot of sweaters in the winter 

social stance/relationships;

Silent but deadly. He may not cause a fight for the thrill of it like Mattheo will, but he will support and instigate his best friends angsty behavior. His naturally sweet looking face can quickly become mincing- his main tactic of intimidating his enemies and naysayers. 

Most people think he’s meaner than he is. He actually stays mostly in his own lane if it isn’t to back up the rest of the boys or join in on chaos one of them already caused. 

They are all players, sure- but Theo is kinda mean about it. Rather heartless with his hookups and doesn’t ever keep the same one for long. Romantic feelings are something he doesn’t really feel or act on. 

May be on the more cold side with girls but keeps their personal info to himself. Even to his friends he doesn’t brag or talk about it that often. 

People who do get the opportunity of being Theo’s friend say that he is very funny and has a dark sense of humor

Comes off as a lone wolf to the rest of the school- but can also very often be seen with his best friend Mattheo

Will actually stand up for the little guy- especially if on his own. If he thinks something is unfair he will call them out

Thinks that Lorenzo is the funniest in their group but tells Mattheo it’s him to make him feel better

Let’s the boys think he isn’t totally in charge of most of their affairs

Mattheo is his best friend- he thinks he’s the coolest and gets along with him the most out of any of the boys 

Him and Enzo butt heads a lot but he does love him very much

Goes to Blaise and Tom when he needs good advice or just to vent to smart people

Finds himself feeling jealous of Draco and his ability to not give a fuck (little does he know…)

pet peeves;

While he does engage in bullying with the rest of the boys he thinks Draco goes way too far sometimes. It gets on his nerves and sometimes does say something

Love and romance in any way. If he feels like any girl is catching feelings he gets the ick and leaves sooner than he would have anyways 

Hates it when Mattheo blows cigarette smoke to close to his face even though he smokes too

Thinks Enzo brags too much about himself but has never said anything 

Also thinks Enzo can talk too much in general sometimes…

If a girl he likes seems more interested in any of his friends he gets jealous. This happens with Mattheo the most and can cause them to fight

favourite things;

Alone time- as much as he loves his friends he actually does love chill time alone sometimes

He likes parties just as much as the rest of them but for him it’s because he can get super fucked up- he’s there for the muggle weed and alcohol

Potions. Out of all his classes he actually finds making potions kind of fun- his favorite classmate to make potions with is Pansy because she’s actually good at it

More into smoking than drinking- loves muggle weed. He’s always in charge of bringing it to the their smaller get togethers

Crystal Castles- if that band existed he would love it

Spicy food

Painting- even though he thinks he’s terrible at it

Hanging out with Mattheo

Early morning hours 

Skirts on girls

fun facts;

Actually speaks Italian and some Spanish 

He can out-smoke any of the boys (yes even Mattheo)

Pansy has a huge crush on him 

He never remembers his dreams 

Has dyslexia

Mattheo Riddle

appearance/style;

5ft10

Lean but prominent muscle tone

Chocolate brown eyes 

Long eyelashes

dark brown hair- lightly curly

Dough eyes

Very charming grin- but mischievous 

Wears various bracelets and a pinky ring on his left hand constantly

Mostly dark colors. Loves jackets even when not in uniform

Mostly silver, but likes gold

There’s a few rings and bracelets that he wears the most- almost every day. They are subtle but iconic

Watch on his left arm because he’s right handed

Too scared to pierce his ears

Actually likes fashion and thinks about it when he gets ready

social stance/relationships;

Terrible reputation. Known for his rude words and tendency to get into physical fights. This has a lot of people on his enemy list

He and Draco are the worst about how they treat other people in and outside of their house. He has no respect for people that feel less than him

One of the worst players- but has a select roster he mainly goes to. They are wrapped around his pinky

Can and has felt romantic feelings but never acts on it. Hides his desire to actually love someone. Thinks that would make him too vulnerable

While Draco is egotistical- Mattheo is rude for other reasons. He’s pessimistic and does it to get attention

Secretly wants validation but continues to worsen his reputation by acting out 

Thinks Theo is the funniest and the coolest. He loves his dark sense of humor. They bounce off of eachother well 

Let’s Theo think he’s in charge but it’s so obviously him- right? (right-)

While his best friend is Theo- he is also very close with Enzo

Him and his brother Tom butt heads a lotttt, they get into a lot of disagreements. He secretly loves him a lot 

Also quite close to Draco. They can relate in some ways even if they won’t admit it

Goes to Blaise when he needs advice or even when logic needs to be talked into him

All of his friends know that he is secretly super sweet and caring but outsiders don’t and he likes it that way

pet peeves;

Tom’s lack of empathy. And his lack of interest towards getting with girls- he thinks that is odd

When Tom won’t hang out with them because of an academic reason- also thinks that is odd

When a girl stops showing interest in him in any way- or if they’ve replaced him. If it’s one of his friends he’d freak

He hates all of his friends music taste. They don’t listen to good music. He thinks very highly however of his own music taste

Tests of any kind

If any of his friends take Tom’s side during one of their fights he gets super mad and it secretly hurts him a lot

favorite things;

The smiths- he would listen to the smiths a lot and I will die on that hill

The specific brand of cigarettes he smokes daily

Quidditch- Lorenzo is his favorite team mate because he’s quick

Confrontation 

Music

Attention, positive or negative 

A total night person, especially as it gets colder

Sour candy 

Reading tragic romance stories 

Horror movies

Hanging out with Theo

fun facts;

Thinks he can out-smoke Theo (he can not)

Has really crazy dreams and a hard time sleeping 

Gets seasonal depression really bad

Hates the smell of coffee but still drinks it

Has had multiple secret real gf’s that only Theo knows about

Lorenzo Berkshire

appearance/style;

6ft4 (the tallest)

Long limbs- lean. But shockingly strong, sleeper build

Amber brown eyes

Sharp jawline

A natural Kubrick stare- mean case of resting bitch face

Dark brown hair- kept on the longer side

Shows his emotions on his face through his expressions

Likes necklaces, long ones underneath his clothes. Likes rings and earrings which he wears most of the time

Mostly gold but likes silver as well

Outside of his uniform he wears a lot of pastel colors, purple and green being his favorite. Also really likes dark purple and green. Gem tones

Watch on both arms, mixed with chunky bracelets (for fancy events)

Everyone says he had really beautiful hair and he secretly always makes sure it is (he loves his hair)

Social stance and relationships;

Known as the schools biggest whore. But in a good way?

Even though he can actually be the worst- he has a good reputation. His ability to charm and seem innocent has helped him get away with a lot of things 

Generally one of the most liked out of the boys around the whole school. People fear him least and actually really want to be friends with him

Either that or they have a huge crush on him

He comes off as much more sweet than he… can be

He uses girls very disposibley. He really makes them feel like he really likes them though. He’s great at pretending to get what he wants

All of his friends know one of the worst thing about him is his habit of lying 

Over the years girls have gotten the gist of what kind of guy he truly is but it still stays rumor around school because of how well liked he is 

Treats everyone in the group like they are his best friends- but it’s probably actually Mattheo

He knows that Theo can find him annoying but thinks that’s funny. Even does it on purpose sometimes for entertainment 

Draco is his cousin and another close friend of his but secretly envy’s him because he thinks the boys like Draco more than him

Becomes the most mischievous when with Mattheo. They can act like major dicks together

Likes to hit on girls with Blaise

Goes to Tom about school stuff he struggles with. He’s not that great with academics

While he can be cold in some ways to others- with his friends he can be quite emotional 

pet peeves;

He hates that he feels the need to be perfect all the time but never can be 

It irks him that everyone thinks Mattheo is some hooligan when he’s really not 

While he likes smoking cigarettes- he thinks they all smoke too much

He has a lower tolerance and hates that he’s always the first to be super drunk 

Waking up in the morning. Always wakes up in a terrible mood until he wakes up 

Out of any of the boys he has the most patience overall

favorite things;

Getting drunk and partying. He gets invited to everything 

Having people fawn all over him. He likes that so many people like him

Flirting with other guy’s girlfriends to piss them off

Quidditch- loves playing with Mattheo and Draco

Muggle weed. Also has the lowest tolerance with that 

Hugging Draco 

Fruit. Blueberries are his favorite 

Deftones. He’d feel so cool while listening to them 

Luna Lovegood. He thinks she’s freaky in a good way

fun facts;

Has the deepest voice out of all the boys

Can run faster than anyone else at Hogwarts

Has really bad OCD 

Out of any of the boys he is most susceptible to substance abuse. Terrible addictive personality 

He hates his family and only talks about growing up with Draco 

Draco Malfoy

appearance/style;

6ft even

White blond hair 

Striking, light blue eyes

Long and lanky. The skinniest out of them

Sharp angular features

Also has resting bitch face but on purpose 

Loves jewelry- but classy jewelry and not all the time. Mostly necklaces 

Silver and silver only

Wears a lot of dark clothing- also likes gem tones. But mostly black white and grey’s

Mostly gets comments on how blonde his hair is and how bright his eyes are. Has soul staring blue eyes

Black is his most iconically worn color fs

Watch on his left because he’s right handed. Actually wears it every day

social stance/relationships;

A total asshole. Just less physically than Mattheo. He may not pick a physical fight but he does bully a lot of people- he’s rude and intitled. Says hurtful things

Known for his high ego and over privileged personality

People don’t understand how him and Lorenzo are even related 

Does pull girls but isn’t as good as the others are at it- is filled with too much hate (lol… no actually)

Everyone wonders how he gets good grades because he never pays attention. It’s because he’s actually super smart

Him and Tom get along really well. They actually have a lot in common and hang out a lot

Blaise and Lorenzo are the ones that know more of his vulnerable and emotional side, being there since the beginning

Mattheo and him really feed off one another and are a very feared couple when together (no one is safe). They fuel each others egos 

Actually really loves Theo. Has always had an extra soft spot for him and has wished he could be him

He envy’s how cold Tom actually is. Draco hides a lot of his pain in a fake persona

He actually had real gf’s. A few long term ones even

Out of all the boys he trusted Blaise first. Lorenzo introduced them

pet peeves;

Everything? No literally- he has a very short fuse

Speaking of short fuse- his friends like to use that against him and rile him up for fun. He hates that

Being disrespected. He will actually become a Karen if he has to- no body is rude to Draco.. except his friends are rude to him all the time 

How much everyone loves his cousin Enzo but hates him. He is jealous of the attention he gets

Any time one of the guys are bragging about girls because he secretly wishes he had that many girls 

Mattheo’s fucking cigarette smoke

The fact that Tom’s grades are just a little better than his 

The fact that Mattheo and Enzo are better at quidditch than him 

Gryffindor. Just the whole houses existence

“Fucking nerds’, as he’d call them 

favourite things;

Cussing 

Writing (keeps it to himself mostly)

Mattheo’s music taste

Enzo hugs (he will die before Enzo knows this)

The Greengrass sisters (has dated both of them… wants one of them back)

The color black

Getting extremely drunk. Feeling numb and unbothered. That’s when he gets deep and real 

Cold weather- hates the heat

Pastries, especially jelly filled ones 

fun facts;

Speaks French 

Is super rich and will make sure everyone knows that

Has a weakness for cute animals 

Got mad when Tom lost his virginity before him

Is secretly bisexual

Probably bpd

Blaise Zambini

appearance/style;

6ft2 (the second tallest)

Broad and muscular but still on the lean side

Deep brown eyes

Full lips, model like features 

Great cheekbones 

Known as one of the prettiest out of the boys

Likes gold and silver 

Never wears his watch- always forgets it and loses it

Does wear earrings like all the time though

Secretly wants a nose piercing 

Wears a lot of grey and navy outside of his uniform. Looks really good in it though

Striking eyes but gentle, sweet resting face

social stance/relationships;

A good reputation like Enzo- but a bit more intimidating 

A lot of girls want him but he’s actually quite picky and doesn’t give a lot of them a chance

Gets emotional about girls more so than his friends- still doesn’t date them. Like Mattheo- has the ones he goes to the most 

Not really mean at all unless he’s joining in on his friends being dicks. Him and Enzo like to tease people together 

Sees Draco as his best friend 

Knew Enzo first

Wishes he could be as smart as Tom and goes to him a lot for school questions. Is secretly super smart though and could probably get better grades than Tom if he applied himself more

Likes to smoke with Theo the most. They get along well when they smoke together

Thinks Mattheo is the funniest 

pet peeves;

How mean Draco and Mattheo can be. He finds it pointless and rude when they go too far

When he gets lumped into some of the boys bad behavior

When Enzo and Draco get too drunk at parties. He tends to drink less because he knows they will go over board and he’ll have to take care of them 

How little the boys think about Tom sometimes and leave him behind (Tom would have said no anyways)

How much he can see through Draco’s shit sometimes 

Does a lot of damage control for his friends and that can get old

Being late to things

Losing things (loses things all the time)

Watching a friend lower their standards for a girl or guy

favorite things;

Going to quidditch games to see his friends play- always sits with Theo

Colder weather

A comfy sweater

A nicely rolled joint. Thinks Theo roles the best ones

When things are nice and calm. No body is arguing or being stupid and he doesn’t have to be mom

When his grades are good and he doesn’t have to stress about it

Watching Draco get put in his place 

Alone time with Draco and Enzo, just like their first year

Rock music. Like classic rock music- listens to it with Tom and Mattheo

Girls that wear nice perfume 

fun facts;

He wishes he could play quidditch when he watches his friends play

Can understand a small amount of Draco’s French 

Has really bad anxiety but keeps it to himself

Seems like the most put together in the group but really isn’t at all. More insecure than he lets on

Tom Riddle

appearance/style;

5ft11 (One inch that he holds over Mattheo’s head)

Major sleeper build

Green eyes. Odd shade of green that you can’t forget

Hair similar to his brothers just a little less curly 

NIce jawline

Evil and mischievous looking grin- it’s just that way naturally 

Resting plotting against you face 

Tries to have a kubrick stare but has dough eyes like Mattheo 

Would wear jewelry but nothing too flashy. A necklace maybe- one ring even

Gold and silver- mostly gold

Wears his watch on his right hand because he’s left handed. Wears it all the time 

Isn’t seen in much other than his uniform. But when he is it’s black and green anyways 

Doesn’t care for fashion. Thinks piercings and tattoos of any kind are too much

Never goes into public not dressed nice 

social stance/relationships;

Social outcast. Not the most social at all really

Extremely focused on his grades and personal writings

Is either feared or ignored by most people around him 

Does however have friends and goes out with them sometimes… when they bug him enough 

He is known for being very smart though and lots of students want his help on projects 

Quite intimidating even though he doesn’t care enough to bully anyone 

Isn’t very interested in girls… has had his fun with a few but romance and feelings don’t exist in his world- he has no time or energy for that

Has had a few crushes but would never tell anyone 

Doesn’t talk about his feelings with any of his friends 

Actually likes his brother Mattheo the most out of any of them but won’t admit that

Is also a huge fan of Theo- he thinks he’s the funniest 

Likes being around Blaise a lot too- thinks he is actually super smart

Draco and him hang out often- they have a lot in common and Draco makes the most sense to him out of all the boys 

He finds Enzo slightly annoying… he’s just gotten used to him really 

All of the boys admire Tom in an odd way and he does know that 

pet peeves;

Like Draco- Tom finds everything lame and annoying to be honest. He however is more quiet about his distaste for things unless he really hates it

Enzo’s constant talking about girls. He thinks that guy talks too much in general 

Mattheo’s temper. He thinks Mattheo needs to get it together and drop the ego

How little his friends pay attention in school… how stupid some of them can be 

Mattheo’s fucking cigarette smoke 

How much the school cares about quidditch and how Mattheo is praised about it more than he is with his academic success 

Getting super fucked up is dumb to him. Just like the flirting and hooking up- he has better things to do. He will however smoke muggle weed a little bit and does lie cigarettes

Being touched (Enzo trying to hug him)

Athletics of any kind 

favorite things; 

Writing and reading, he absolutely loves it 

Draco’s creative cussing 

Getting the best grades out of all his friends 

Watching Mattheo get angry at him and squirmy 

Chocolate, major bitter sweet tooth

Black coffee

Charms; he is really good at it 

Dueling; he is also really good at it and beats all the boys

Classical music 

Alone time and his own space 

fun facts;

He can play the piano really well. Plays mostly for Mattheo 

Practically raised Mattheo even though he’s just a year older

He doesn’t like to sleep too much

He is always the first to wake up and start his day 

He is also the first to always leave the table in the great hall

He speaks parseltongue but no body knows

Secretly overthinks a lot 

love, spell

[theskywithin]

💫 The Natal Vertex in the Houses: Where Fate Finds You

The Vertex isn’t loud. It doesn’t arrive with sirens or spotlights. It arrives like a shift in the wind, like a glance that lingers, like a door you didn’t know you were meant to walk through. In the birth chart, the Vertex is a portal. To people. To lessons. To moments that reroute your life. It’s where the universe takes the wheel, even if you thought you knew where you were going.

Each house placement reveals where fate waits for you, softly, silently, but without fail.

Vertex in the 1st House

Fate arrives through moments that force you to meet yourself. You’ll be nudged, no, thrown, into situations that strip away the versions of you that were never truly yours. You’re here to become someone you haven’t yet met. Someone stronger, bolder, realer. The universe will place you in front of mirrors, disguised as challenges, lovers, strangers, until you finally say: “This is who I am. And I’m not hiding anymore.”

Vertex in the 2nd House

You will think you know your worth. And then life will test it. Over and over. You are destined to redefine what has value, not just in the world, but in yourself. Through losses, gains, and the aching in-between, you’ll learn that your value isn’t in what you offer, but in what you are. Fate will show up in the form of what you think you need, only to teach you what you truly deserve.

Vertex in the 3rd House

Your turning points come not through chaos, but through conversations, questions, and words that stay with you. Someone says something you weren’t ready to hear. You stumble upon a book, a phrase, a memory, and suddenly everything shifts. Fated moments come disguised as everyday ones. A message missed the first time. A voice that cracks something open in you. You’re here to rewrite the story you were told, and learn how to speak your own into existence.

Vertex in the 4th House

Fate doesn’t knock on your front door. It knocks on the door inside your chest. This placement ties your destiny to the roots you never chose and the healing you must choose. Family, ancestry, home, these will feel like mazes at first. But fate will push you into rooms that demand forgiveness, softness, reclamation. You’re here to come home to yourself, even if you had to leave everything familiar to do so.

Vertex in the 5th House

You’re not here to live safely. You’re here to feel everything deeply, to love without apology, to create without asking for permission. Fate will place you in front of people or passions that awaken the version of you that dances in the flames. Children, art, romance, risk. They may break your heart open, but only so you’ll finally use it fully. This is the house of remembering joy, and daring to keep it.

Vertex in the 6th House

You don’t find your destiny in grand moments. You find it in the mundane. In the habits that heal you, the routines that ground you, the tasks that secretly build you. Fate asks you to serve, not to shrink, but to rise with purpose. Your turning points may come through work, health, sacrifice, or service, but they will always come with meaning. You’re here to learn that healing is holy, and purpose is found in the details.

Vertex in the 7th House

You were never meant to walk this path alone. Fate arrives wearing the face of another. Not just lovers, teachers, soul mirrors, adversaries. People who crack you open, rearrange you, and leave fingerprints on your becoming. This is the house of union, but not comfort. It is through connection that you unearth your edges, and choose to soften them. You’re here to meet the one who reveals you to yourself.

Vertex in the 8th House

Fate doesn’t arrive quietly here. It arrives in loss, rebirth, seduction, secrets, surrender. You’re not here to live on the surface. You’re here to dive, to the depths of intimacy, trauma, transformation. Fated events will force you to shed skin after skin, learning what power really means. It is in your most unraveling moments that you will become someone unshakable.

Vertex in the 9th House

Destiny takes the long way with you. Across oceans, languages, ideologies. You will be changed by what you don’t yet understand. Fate whispers through the unfamiliar, the beliefs that unsettle you, the truths that demand expansion. You’re here to chase meaning. And life will place you in foreign places, literal or spiritual, until you realize: home was never a location. It was freedom.

Vertex in the 10th House

This is the house of becoming. Fate will not let you hide. Public identity, career, legacy, these are not just ambitions, they are soul contracts. You are meant to leave a mark, but first life will strip away everything you thought success meant. Then, it will give you something real to rise with. You’re here to take up space, not for the applause, but because you finally believe you belong.

Vertex in the 11th House

Fate shows up in friendships, visions, revolutions. You are here to connect, to tribe, to truth, to the future. You may feel like an outsider until you find your soul circle, the ones who recognize the fire in your chest and say “me too.” Your path involves something bigger than just you. Movements. Causes. Ideas that will outlive you. You're here to belong, not just anywhere, but somewhere that sets you free.

Vertex in the 12th House

Destiny is not loud here, it’s intuitive, invisible, soaked in déjà vu. You are guided by something you can’t quite name. Fated experiences will feel spiritual, strange, deeply karmic. Loss, solitude, dreams, and secrets will shape your path. But this is also the house of transcendence. You’re here to release what isn’t yours, forgive what never apologized, and surrender to something higher. Fate doesn’t just find you, it flows through you.

[vunblr]

Built to Last

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff.

Summary: Bucky took up carpentry to keep himself busy, but didn't expect a hardware clerk to make him want more.

Word Count: 3.4k.

notes: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "I didn't do a thing". Card number 4B-016

Bucky didn’t know what to say when Dr. Raynor told him to pick up a hobby. It wasn’t a suggestion. She said he needed something to keep his hands busy other than fighting, fidgeting with the weight of his past, or rotting alone in his apartment. He had scoffed at the idea at first. He didn’t know what the hell he wanted to do with his life, and a hobby was part of that uncertainty. But after taking his time to think about it, carpentry had stuck.

Before the war -before everything- he used to help out at a woodworking shop near his parents’ place. Just small stuff. Sanding, assembling furniture, little repairs here and there. It had been a way to make a few extra bucks to help at home, and he barely remembered the details of the work itself. But he remembered the feeling. The weight of the wood beneath his hands, the scent of sawdust in the air. The satisfaction of making something solid, something that stayed put when he was done with it.

So, he signed up for a class. Twice a week, a few hours at a workshop not too far from his apartment. At first, it was just to shut Raynor up. But soon enough, he found himself staying longer, working on projects after class, getting lost in the routine of measuring, cutting, and sanding. He liked the precision it required, the way it quieted his mind. His hands had spent too many years destroying. This, at least, was the opposite of that.

And though he wouldn’t admit it, he liked the errand of buying supplies.

Most of the wood was provided at the workshop, but for everything else -sandpaper, varnish, nails, brushes, hinges- there was a small hardware store along the way. Just a hole-in-the-wall place, the kind of shop that had a little bit of everything and a counter perpetually dusted with stray wood shavings. Bucky told himself he went there because it was convenient and nothing more. Liked its atmosphere.

He had no idea how it happened, but somehow -much to his dismay- Sam ended up signing up for the carpentry classes, claiming it would entertain his head. He had begrudgingly shown him the spot where he got his supplies, but after fifteen minutes of Sam chatting up with her, while Bucky busied himself grabbing what he needed, he was starting to think he regretted it.

She knew who he was -how could she not?- but she treated him like any other customer. When she learned he was taking lessons, she started asking about his projects every time he went there. Once a week, like clockwork. Sometimes, when he came in looking roughed up after a mission, she’d even ask if he was okay. Direct and simple, like it wasn’t strange at all for a man like him to be standing in her shop, debating between varnish finishes with bruised knuckles. Every now and then, she gave him candies.

Now, she leaned her hip against the counter, twirling a pen between her fingers as she smirked at Sam. “I bet you expected some grumpy old guy back here, huh?”

“I mean, yeah,” Sam admitted with a laugh. “No offense, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone sell power tools and nails in a dotted sundress before. It’s a little disorienting.”

Her grin widened. “Keeps people on their toes.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose and grabbed a box of nails off the shelf with a little too much force, shoving it into his basket. He told himself it wasn’t irritation that he was feeling. Definitely not.

Sam caught the movement immediately, and jerked a thumb toward him, “Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just mad he’s not getting attention.”

Bucky didn’t look up, but squeezed his hand around the next box of nails he picked up. He didn’t need more nails, but standing there empty-handed wasn’t an option while Sam worked his usual charm on her.

She then flicked her gaze over him, with a little amusement, before she pushed off the counter and strolled toward him. “Need help finding anything, James?”

James.

His fingers tensed around the box again.

She was one of the few people who ever called him that. It always did something weird to his chest, like the name fit better in her voice than his own head.

He swallowed. “No. I’m good.”

Her lips quirked, fixing her eyes to the box in his hand. “You sure? ‘Cause I think you just grabbed two different sizes of nails. And I’m pretty sure the second one’s too big for that book holder you told me you’re making.”

Bucky scowled, glancing down. Damn it. She was right.

“You can never have enough nails,” he muttered, shifting the box in his grip. “Besides, I’m thinking about another project, so…” He trailed off, trying to sound casual.

Her eyes widened with interest. “Oh? What are you making next?”

“Yeah, James,” Sam chimed in, voice dripping with amusement. “What’s your next masterpiece?”

Bucky clenched his jaw. He could practically hear the smirk in Sam’s voice because they both knew he was full of shit. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“A coffee table.”

Her face lit up. “That’s bigger than your usual work,” she said, beaming. “I can’t wait to see a picture when it’s done.”

Bucky swallowed, resisting the urge to fidget. Great. Now he had to make a damn coffee table for real.

“He doesn’t have one, you see,” Sam said as if Bucky wasn’t standing right there. “His place is pretty spartan.”

“Oh, really?” she mused, tilting her head with interest.

“I think he needs some help with the whole ‘making a house feel like a home’ thing,” he continued, grinning. “Everybody knows 40s men weren’t exactly in charge of those things or managing a household.” He sighed. “And since he’s alone-”

Bucky felt utterly betrayed. It was partially right. He was alone, and after so many years of being in survival mode, his apartment still didn’t feel like a home, just another place to exist. But he didn’t have the right to call him off about that in front of her.

His features shifted into a neutral mask, and his shoulders went rigid. Without a word, he set the basket on top of a nearby box and turned toward the door. “I’ll come back later.”

“Wait.” Her voice was gentle but firm, and before he could leave, she reached out and briefly touched his elbow.

The warmth of her hand was barely registered before he tensed, fighting the instinct to pull away. His feet stayed planted, but his gaze dropped to the ground as he gave her a small, awkward nod.

“I have something for you,” she said, already moving toward the back room.

Bucky’s shoulders twitched, and the urge to bolt mounted fast. Sam, sensing he had overstepped, exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, man,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “I just was-“

Bucky waved a hand dismissively, though his jaw remained tight. He didn’t have the energy to say it’s fine, because it wasn’t, not really. But she was already gone, and for some reason, that alone was the only thing keeping him rooted in place.

A minute later, she returned with a well-loved book in her hands. “Here.” She held it out, and when he hesitated, she smiled. “Last time we talked, you mentioned wanting to catch up on books you missed. This was one of them, right? Red Mars?”

Bucky’s brows lifted, caught off guard. He looked at the book, then at her, with surprise flickering across his face. She remembered.

He reached out slowly, brushing his fingers on the worn cover before taking it. “Thanks…”

“I’m only lending it to you,” she teased, “And, you have to tell me what you think about it when you return it to me, like a real-life Goodreads review.”

Sam snorted. “I don’t think he-”

“He knows what it is,” she cut in smoothly, lifting a brow. With an easy shift of her stance, she subtly positioned herself between them, like a shield. “I taught him.”

Sam held up his hands in surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright.”

Bucky looked down at the book again, running his thumb along the edge of the pages, and then at her, standing between him and Sam, cutting through the teasing, speaking in his favor. Of course, he didn’t need it, but… it felt nice.

And before he could stop himself, he flicked a smug little smile in Sam’s direction. Just a quick, fleeting thing -boyish, almost careless- but enough to make Sam blink in disbelief.

“Did you just-” Sam pointed at him, then looked at her, eyes wide. But she had her back turned toward Bucky, and was completely unaware of the display

“Stop messing with me, Sam,” Bucky pleaded, tone all wounded pride. But still smirking.

Sam scoffed. “It wasn’t that serious, and you’re clearly not that affected.”

She turned briefly, and just like that, Bucky wiped the smirk clean off his face, replacing it with a look so convincingly forlorn, like a dog that had just been kicked, that Sam nearly choked on his own indignation.

That bastard. Using his Winter Soldier undercover acting skills.

And then -before Sam could get a word in- she sighed and shook her head. “It’s not funny, you know,” she said as she looked at Sam. “He’s your friend, and he’s been through a lot. You don’t even know me, and you’ve been messing with him this whole time trying to mix me into it. I thought the Avengers were better than that.”

Sam’s mouth opened, then closed. He had faced down alien invasions, rogue governments, and Bucky at his most feral, but this? This had him momentarily speechless.

And Bucky? Bucky beamed.

Because after six months of clipped conversations and hesitant efforts to talk to her in his still-awkward way, she had shut birdbrain down for him, without hesitation. And just minutes ago, the two of them had been so damn chatty.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said, keeping up the little orphan act, shoulders curling in just enough. “He can’t be dealing with my shit all the time.”

“It’s not okay, James,” she countered. “You should speak up for yourself. Don’t just take this kind of treatment.”

Sam found his voice again, throwing up his hands. “Oh, he speaks just fine for himself, let me tell you-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” She cut him off with a sharp look. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to sort from the last delivery. Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll ring you up.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Sam standing there, baffled.

Bucky, still holding the book, let the smugness seep into his expression again, and Sam shot him a glare. “I hate you.”

----

A week later, Bucky walked into the hardware store, a little worse for wear. He moved stiffly, with fresh a bruise shadowing his jaw, a scrap on his nose, and roughed-up knuckles, the kind of raw that came from a fight, not precisely carpentry.

She glanced up from the counter, and her smile faltered. “Jesus, James. You look like you got in a fight with a truck.”

“Something like that,” he muttered.

She folded her arms. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” It came out too quick, too practiced, but before she could call him on it, he pulled something from inside his jacket and set it on the counter, her copy of Red Mars.

“I read this during some downtime,” he said like he hadn’t just brushed past her concern.

Her expression softened. “Yeah? What’d you think?”

He hesitated, rubbing a thumb along the book’s spine. “Dense as hell, but… good. I liked the way it built up all the politics and survival stuff. And the tech felt real.” He tapped lightly against the cover before adding, “Kept my mind busy.”

Something warm flickered in her gaze, and she leaned on the counter, propping her chin her hand, and grinned. “Told you it was good. You want the follow-up novel?”

He nodded. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll bring it the day after tomorrow for you since you have class.” She tapped the book with her fingers before sliding it off the counter, and for a moment, he just stood there, watching her. There was something about the way she did things for him like she actually gave a damn, like lending him the book. It seemed just a casual thing but also showed that she’d thought about him.

And he liked that. More than he should.

His hand curled at his side, and his fingers twitched like they wanted to do something. Instead, he glanced around, searching for anything to distract himself with.

That’s when he saw it.

One of the shelves against the back wall sagged at an ugly angle, one side barely clinging to the wall bracket. He frowned. “Your shelf is falling.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah. It’s been like that for a month. My boss keeps saying he’ll fix it, but…” She gestured vaguely to the still-broken shelf.

Bucky wet his lips. “I can fix it.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh, you don’t have to-”

“I can fix it.” He looked at her then, raising his brows just slightly.

Her lips twitched. “I don’t want to take advantage of your generosity, James.”

“You’re not.” He tipped his head toward the backroom door. “Let me see it.”

With a shake of her head, she sighed. “Alright. Knock yourself out.” She lifted the counter flap to let him pass through, and as he ducked beneath it, she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, “Such a gentleman.” And he repressed a smile.

As he started to work, she stepped toward the counter. “Want a coffee while you’re at it? Nothing fancy, I bring it in my thermos from home.”

Bucky glanced up from where he was bracing the shelf, rolling his shoulder to ease a dull ache. “Yeah. Sure.”

She poured some into a plain ceramic cup, and just as she set it on the counter, the bell above the door jingled. Two men walked in, murmuring between themselves as they started browsing. She didn’t think much of it at first, but as she rang up their items, she caught the way their eyes kept flicking to Bucky, more precisely, to his left hand, exposed where he was securing a bracket.

Their whispers weren’t subtle. She didn’t catch all the back and forth but picked up some words.

“…murderer.”

“Why the government…”

“surely a sociopath-”

Her grip on the counter tightened. Assholes.

She flicked her eyes toward Bucky. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge them, but she knew he heard every word given his enhanced hearing. His movements slowed just slightly, his shoulders squared a little tighter.

Something hot burned in her chest.

“Get out.”

The two men stilled. “Excuse me?”

She folded her arms, fixing them with a flat stare. “You heard me. The house reserves the right of admission, and I decide you’re not welcome here.”

One of them scoffed. “For what? I didn’t do a thing.”

“You disrespected a veteran, and an Avenger, no less. Someone who puts his life at risk so you don’t have to.”

Bucky’s hammer stilled mid-swing.

The men bristled, looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “Oh, come on, lady. You know what he is-”

“I know exactly who he is,” she snapped, stepping forward. “And I know you’re the kind of cowards who whisper about a man behind his back instead of saying it to his face.” She jerked her chin toward the door. “So, like I said, get out.”

The men looked between her and Bucky as if waiting for him to react. He didn’t. Just worked his jaw, and locked his gaze on the shelf like it was the only thing in the room.

The tension stretched, but she didn’t back down, didn’t look away.

Eventually, with a few muttered curses, the men turned around and stormed out, slamming the door shut behind them.

She exhaled sharply, with anger, then turned back to Bucky. He was still gripping the hammer, with his fingers curling around it like a lifeline. He wasn’t looking at her.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he finally said, quietly.

She shrugged, reaching for her coffee like her heart wasn’t still pounding. “Sure, I did.”

He then glanced at her, with an unreadable expression. Like he didn’t know what to do with the fact that she had chosen to stand up for him and lost customers because of it.

“You want some sugar with your coffee?” she asked casually, like nothing had happened.

Bucky blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. He almost wanted to smile.

“No, thank you,” he murmured, turning back to the shelf for the final touches. It didn’t need much fixing, just a few adjustments, and a new bracket, barely fifteen minutes of work. And now it was done. His excuse to be here was gone.

He swallowed down his disappointment and took a sip of the coffee instead.

She leaned against the counter, watching him, wrapping her fingers around her own mug. “That was a quick job. Guess I’ll have to break something else next time.”

Bucky’s grip on the cup tightened just slightly. Something else? Wait. Did she-

He tilted his head, gazing at her with mild surprise. “That so?”

She blinked, as she’d just realized she’d said it out loud. A beat of silence. Then, instead of backtracking, she simply lifted a shoulder in an easy shrug, “Maybe.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he took another sip of coffee, trying -failing- to ignore the way something warm curled in his chest.

Fuck it.

Stomping down the old instinct to talk himself out of it, to recall every failed date, every misstep, every why would she be interested thought, he decided to man up.

“Are you busy on Saturday?” He kept his voice even, aiming for casual, like it didn’t matter either way. Like her answer wasn’t about to determine whether he will spend the next week brooding.

She tilted her head, considering. “Well, that… depends.” Serious. A little guarded.

His stomach dipped. Shit. Did he misread-She was friendly, sure, but she was friendly with everyone. Just because she indulged him with a little extra care when he showed up didn’t mean she meant anything by it. Maybe she just felt bad for him. Maybe she was the kind of person who went out of her way to make people feel seen, and he was just another project, another lost cause that-

“If you’re asking me out,” she said, with a slow smile tugging at her lips, “then yes, I’m free. But-” she continued, “if you were about to suggest coming here after hours to see what else needs fixing… then no.”

Bucky exhaled, shaking his head. “Damn. And I wanted to impress you with my handyman skills.” He let himself flirt, just a little.

She hummed and then reached for his hand gently, as her thumb traced over his bruised knuckles. The warmth of her fingers, the softness of the motion, sent a tingle down his spine, straight to his chest, where it bloomed into something dangerously warm.

“You don’t need to impress me, Jamie.”

Jamie.

Oh, fuck.

“Just pick a time and place.”

He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.” And after a beat, “What do you think abou-”

The door swung open, and the bell jingled as a small crew of workmen entered. Bucky shut up immediately, scratching the back of his head as she turned to greet them.

“Good afternoon, guys. I’ll be with you in a sec.” Without missing a beat, she grabbed a scrap of paper, scribbled something down, and pressed it into his palm before turning to the customers.

Her number.

“Surprise me,” she murmured over her shoulder before slipping into work mode, shifting gears like she hadn’t just tilted his world off its damn axis.

Bucky stared down at the paper. Then at her.

Then, with a barely contained smirk, he tucked the paper into his pocket and walked out of the shop, already deciding on the perfect first date.

Dividers by:@/cafekitsune

[rotapathetic]

˒ 𝑯𝑰𝑴𝑩𝐎 .ᐟ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐄 showing you off to his friends ..

giddy puppy behavior ༦ ⬭ rambling ༦ ⬭ himbo introduction ༦ ⬭

he bit his knuckle, turning you around in a spin. “wooh,” he squealed. you giggled at his reaction. “okay, you’ve seen the outfit. can we go in now?”

rafe begged you to twin with him for your guys’ outfits. when you said yes, he couldn’t have ran faster to his closet to grab clothes of his for you. “you know i want you in my clothes all the time now right? i love your outfits and all, but i like this more. way more. i feel like i have to get something of yours on my body now. how about your name tatted? i’m down.”

you gently swatted his arm. “you’re not doing that. you already took a bunch of pictures of me, how much more staring do you need?” you slightly tugged up rafe’s pants you were wearing. he made a funny noise and you looked up to see the silliest smile on his face. “you’re so small, my stuff don’t even fit. how about we ditch this and just stay home while you model my clothes for me?”

you fixed him with a look, “later, rafe. your friends are here, don’t you want to see them?”

“no,” he immediately answered. you grabbed his belt to step closer, peering up at him. “yes, you do,” rafe nodded absentmindedly. “yes, i do.”

you smiled. “great,” you grabbed his hand, walking through the door. when rafe spotted his friends, he pulled them into a bro hug, turning to you. “here she is,” rafe smiled. you bit back a smirk at his bluntness.

“right, i know you. you’re all over rafe’s instagram. didn’t believe him when he said he met someone, then i saw picture proof,” the guy said. “’m kelsey. i know you met topper,” he gestured to the boy beside him. you nodded, giving topper a smile.

“guys, look,” rafe said, bringing a hand up to his head, then down to yours, measuring the height difference. “is she my mini me or what?”

kelsey laughed, noticing your outfits. “oh, shoot. who’s idea was this? actually, do i even have to ask?”

rafe shrugged, “she lets me do silly things with her. isn’t she great? and she looks great in my clothes, i can’t compete. she even let me take pictures. not gonna post them though, those are mine. why were you looking at her on my instagram?” rafe realized at the end of his sentence.

kelsey threw his hands up, “that stuff is public, bro, chill out. you were talking about how great she is. .” he changed the subject, knowing rafe gets distracted easily, especially when it comes to bragging about you.

“oh, right. she even likes my kiddish hobbies. she plays my favorite games with me and lets me be first player. and when we’re watching a movie and i don’t understand it, she explains it like a pro. it’s like she made the movie,” he said adoringly.

“and when i scraped myself doing a flip for her the other day, she patched me up. i told her she should be a medic and even tried to call the hospital to sign her up, but they said that’s not how that works. they don’t deserve her talent anyway.”

you glanced away shyly when you realized he was just going on and on, rafe’s friends listening intently.

“and she’s so pretty, i’m always taking pictures of her. she lets me take her pictures to post, too. all the dudes looking at her stuff don’t know i’m the one behind the camera. i get behind the scenes, they just look at a screen.”

rafe absentmindedly grabbed you, wrapping an arm around you from behind, “’s like people should find partners like her, but there’s no one like her. it’s unfortunate, but fortunate for me. no one would even come close. . ’s great.”

topper frowned, “way to make me feel good about being single, bro.”

rafe gripped your face with his ringed hand, smiling down at you. “yeah, i don’t care.”

[labelleizzy]

Reposting from Morgana Alba on Facebook.

It's a reality check for white US Americans that there's WORK involved in emigration or asylum.

One comment on the original post was, "we're not leaving, my husband would never, he's too attached to his family" and the reply "if that's so, you could be the point person looking after /helping manage things for someone else who's got to flee.

Another point: the assumption that folks have $$ wherewithal and physical health enough to do the process as described. I understand that's not true for all of us, but there's a few items in this list that are good for anyone to try and accomplish:

Get a passport

Get all your important documents in a safe, grabbable space

Set up power of attorney for legal matters (your home, your pets if you have to leave them behind, etc)

Research and network for a possible safe landing person or location.

Otherwise, read the list, have a good think about what might apply to your situation, and start doing your research.

....

Morgana Alba:

You need to have a plan - Actually, you need 3.

(TL/DR - get a passport, a foreign one if you qualify, and start with anything in plan B to take actionable steps today to set yourself up for success)

Just in case you should ever need to uproot your life and move out of a country, for any reason, nothing in particular: you should have 3 plans. Not options. Not ideas. Plans. And I realize not everyone as raised like I was so I’m going to tell you how to make them. (And Step 1 is to have a passport. Do that immediately)

First of all, to be a plan it needs a clear objective, identified required steps, and a trigger point. A trigger point is the deciding factor or event that will automatically activate that plan. You must decide what your lines in the sand are in advance. Historic events rarely feel historic when you’re in them and if you don’t decide what you will not accommodate before you’re in it, incrementalism will paralyze you.

For the best coverage, start with plan C and work backwards.

*****

Plan A: Leaving under the best possible circumstances.

This is where a lot of you get stuck. Leaving under the best possible circumstances is a privilege but it’s not the only way out. This takes a lot of time and research and honestly you should have started this plan a year ago if it was what you wanted. To leave via plan A you should:

1. Research what countries you can live in long term and make a living in. This could mean countries you could transfer to with your current employer, countries that are expat friendly, or countries where you qualify for a work visa. If you have living grandparents or aunts that are citizens of and living in a foreign country you may even qualify for a foreign passport. Start that process now.

2. Start learning the language

3. Apply for jobs in that country

4. Find temporary or long term housing

5. Once you have residency and financial support/employment you can sell anything you aren’t moving and leave.

Trigger point for plan A is typically finding employment for most people.

*****

Plan B: Creating the flexibility for short or long term, potentially temporary, absence

This plan is about restructuring your life so that you could leave quickly even if you don’t have the security of Plan A.

1. Determine where you could go, short term. With a U.S. passport you could stay in most countries up to 3 months as a tourist but wouldn’t be allowed to work locally. Call up friends who live abroad and see who would be ok with a long visit if need be.

2. Start selling things you don’t necessarily love. Do a clothing and items purge. If you do have to leave without plan A there may not be the time for storage and sales so start reducing possessions now while you have the time to be mindful.

3. If you own a place, consider getting a roommate or having family move in so that you may not necessarily have to sell if you have to leave. Having someone else to look after the place and the added financial cushion of rent takes a lot of the pressure off during the departure. You’d have someone back home to ship or store your stuff or sell your car if you aren’t returning but you don’t have to make that call at the time.

4. Plan your financial support. Build up savings as you sell things. Look up what jobs will qualify for a digital nomad visa in the countries you’re considering visiting friends in, and very seriously start applying for remote work that fits those restrictions. Open a non-US based bank account to hold your savings. Get a credit card for this and only this. Stick it in the back of your wallet and forget about it.

5. Hoard Medication. Build up a 3-6 month supply of any required daily medications so that you have a cushion to hold you over between leaving and finding new medical care.

6. Digitize all your vital docs, including deeds and medical files. Store them in the cloud and email them to a friend who lives abroad

7. Have a plan for pets. With plan B you may be leaving them behind if you don’t know how long you’ll be gone or where you might settle. Talk to friends and family now about who would be willing to take them in in this situation.

Plan B is about giving you the most flexibility and options. You make big changes now so that you can be prepared to react to changes around you down the road. Trigger Point for plan B is often unique to the individual and involves law changes like access to medical support or the safety of their finances/job/marriage.

*****

Plan C: Run.

This plan is a last resort. It’s easier and less scary than most people think. But you absolutely need to be ready, and you need to know, firmly, what your trigger point is. This plan is for leaving in an emergency, potentially under scrutiny and persecution, with absolutely no plan to return. You should do as much of Plan B as you can, but you can still do plan C without that prep.

1. Have a go-bag. Your go bag is a waterproof, fireproof, personal-item sized piece of luggage that lives pre-packed with your vital documents (passport, medical records, SSN card, birth certificate, marriage certificate, name change docs, any extra photo IDs etc), your medications, around $1000 in non-sequential twenties, your emergency CC, addresses, phone numbers, and info written down for who you could go visit, proof of ownership docs for your house and/or car, and a single change of utilitarian clothing. Keep a pair of sturdy boots next to it if they don’t fit in it.

2. Pack your carry on. In this bag pack your jewelry, photo albums, grandma’s ashes, etc: whatever bits of precious you couldn’t possibly abandon. You need to make those decisions now, not in the moment. This suitcase must meet the SMALLEST restrictions on carryons for international flights (often smaller than what we’re used to in the U.S., typically 22" x 14" x 9") fill any extra space with toiletries or clothing as they reduce suspicion, but don’t prioritize packing clothing or comfort items. You can get that wherever you’re going.

3. These bags live packed in a safe place near the back door of your house; or in your car.

4. Decide where to run to and have a conversation about cover. In this scenario, if your trigger point is a certain executive order, your goal is to get to airport before enforcement goes into place. You need to know where you’re going and “why” your ticket is last minute in advance. Call up whoever is the safe person you’re running to and build the story. “Someone died suddenly” is a good one. This person needs to be ok with you showing up with 0 warning, and automatically going to the cover story if they one-day randomly get a call from a customs agent asking them to confirm why you’re traveling. If you have kids, have go bags for them as well, and only tell them the cover story.

5. Plan for your pet. Once you decide where you will run to look up what you would need to bring your pet and have those things ready to go (carrier, shot record, etc). Also plan for a situation where you have to leave your pet behind. Discuss with friends and family and get a commitment on who would take then in

6. Have a point person that is remaining behind that you trust to handle your affairs. If you have to run with no notice like this, you need someone here to sell your car, ship any possessions you need, cancel your lease, etc. Find your person and have the conversation about that now.

7. If you need to run you grab your go bags and maybe your pet carrier and you get on a plane. Use your normal bank accounts if you can, and your cash and emergency credit card if you can’t. Buy the ticket online if possible. If it has to be in person look for a visible minority ticket agent and if you’re questioned about the last-minute travel lean on the “my mother just died while visiting my aunt in France (or wherever you’re running). I have to go, I’m so distraught, taking my emotional support cat and kid cause idk when I’ll be back, there’s just so much to figure out. My Aunt has dementia. I have to get there before she does something crazy”

8. Try not to worry about what comes next. Humans have cut and run for thousands of years. You can do it. Immediate defense of life comes first. Everything else can be figured out after you’re safe. Don’t let worry over the logistics keep you in a dangerous situation.

Those are three plans you should have. But keep in mind there’s a lot of middle ground. Do as much of B as you can, and if you have to leave without a job, you can figure it out there. The place you run to doesn’t have to be where you’ll settle. You’l have more time to plan after you’re safe.

Americans have this warped idea of immigration. We believe other countries are as insanely draconian about it as we are but that’s not the case. Do your research. Make your plans. And don’t let fear of the unknown or a lack of planning keep you in danger. You can always just pack your bags and get on a plane to a friend’s place or a Sikh temple, and figure the rest of it out when you get there.

But definitely get your passport

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part ix)

summary: Winter rolls into Jackson once more, but things are heating up in the big, white house across the street.

a/n: 18+ MDNI smut, but are you ready for the most wholesome smut you've ever read in your life? also update -> so, heh, I'm not really great at smut per se, this one, I've really tried to capture the luuurv, the physicality of it, and I really hope I've done it justice. also, happy earth day people!

There came a time in Joel’s life when he grew so used to boring bullshit that he actually preferred it. He didn’t know if that was old age creeping up on him, dragging him toward the inevitability of doing absolutely nothing, or if he was just plain tired of a life spent running from one disaster to the next. Either way, he found himself appreciating the small mercies. His own simple pleasures.

Going to bed without whiskey clawing its way down his throat. Waking up without his head feeling like a busted canteen. Fresh, warm socks straight from the laundry. Knuckling down and figuring out how to cook something that wasn’t just oatmeal or meat cooked to leather, not because he had to, but because he wanted to get it right.

At some point, he realized he didn’t care much to keep busy anymore—except for when it came to Leela and Maya. But it was strange how a simple life could still surprise him, could still land a punch straight to the ribs with five little words:

“Why don’t you stay here?”

It had caught him mid-sip, a few days after Leela’s little weed trip, while they were eating dinner. He’d had to set his cup down and stare at her. Make sense of it for three seconds. Even though the answer had already been waiting in his gut, inevitable as sunrise, he had smiled:

“Why not, darlin’?”

And yeah, he loved the big, white house. It was Jackson's history, with old black-and-white pictures lining the walls—Leela’s parents, grandparents, ghosts of people who had walked these halls before him. And maybe, in some small way, he was stitching himself into its bones with his work, care, and name. All the little fond memories in every nook of the home. His hands had worn themselves raw winterizing the garden, keeping the fences up, and scraping, painting, hammering, and patching up Maya’s nursery when she got naughty enough to climb right out of the crib. Light fixtures, floorboards, leaky pipes—he’d wrenched his calf muscle twice trying to fix that goddamn water heater.

Now, as Joel sat at Tommy’s dining table, peeling peas like a goddamn housewife, shoulders hunched, fingers working on autopilot, he continued sneaking glances at them—stuck on them. On all the ways it wasn’t working—on all the ways it was. Why not him?

Maya was perched on Tommy’s arm, fiddling with the salt shaker like it was some great mystery waiting to be solved. Tommy, for all his grumbling about how much of a menace she was, held her tight. That kid had him wrapped around her tiny little finger, and everyone knew it. He’d drive her nuts—hide her favourite toy just to get a rise out of her, tease her until she was practically throwing hands at him—but she’d always come racing back, tossing her arms around his neck, giggling as he swung her up high.

Joel’s hands stilled into peeling the peapod.

It was impossible not to notice how Maria and Tommy moved like two parts of a well-oiled machine. He watched them in the kitchen, just weaving in and out of each other’s space without thinking. Like those buzz magnets Sarah used to stick on the fridge from the capsule toys, repelling, colliding, but always snapping back into place. A hand passed a spoon without looking, a playful bump of the hip, a shared smile that needed no words. Tommy smoothed a hand over Maria’s forehead as she ducked too close to a sharp corner, and she didn’t flinch—just trusted.

Maria smirked at him. “Baby, you hover worse than Joel.”

“Please,” Tommy scoffed, stroking up her back. “Joel’s got me beat by a mile. He’s like a damn watchdog with our kid.” He bounced Maya on his arm, glancing at Joel. “Ain’t that right, big brother?”

Joel rolled his eyes, focusing back on the peas. “She’s one. Anybody with a brain watches a toddler.”

Tommy tsked. “You hear that, Maya? Your mean ol' daddy just called me stupid.”

“I mean, if the shoe fits,” Maria teased, setting a pot on the stove.

Maya giggled, still turning the salt shaker in her hands, getting salt everywhere. “Stew-pid.”

Tommy let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like he’d been wounded. “Et tu, Brute?” He kissed her cheek anyway, undeterred.

Joel shook his head, hiding a smirk. He didn’t say it, but Tommy wasn’t wrong. He was like a watchdog when it came to Maya. Couldn’t help it. That little girl had carved out a place in him that he didn’t even know was still open. His little girl. Maybe not by blood. Maybe not by title. But she was his. Just like Sarah had been. Just like Ellie was.

But maybe that’s why watching Tommy and Maria hurt in a way he wasn’t ready to admit. Because what they had—this effortless, built-in kind of love—wasn’t something he’d dreamt of. Now he wanted it.

It wasn’t even physical, not really. It was just… love. Uncomplicated. Reciprocated. A year ago, he would’ve grunted something about getting a room. Tommy would’ve shot back about owning the whole damn house. But now—

He swallowed, shifting in his chair, wondering. Did he and Leela look like that in their home?

No, hell no. No, he wasn’t the type to put effort into how they were perceived. He barely liked acknowledging it himself, how he softened around her, how he let himself be someone else—someone better—when she was near. But it happened anyway, didn’t it? Without him meaning to. Made him want things.

And ever since he wholly made his home at their big, white house, he was sinking into it.

His love for her wasn’t flashy. He didn’t know how far to go beyond small things. He wasn’t the romantic kind of man, the kind to pick flowers or whisper pretty words. He wasn’t great at it, and wasn’t sure how far to go beyond having her coffee ready by her bedside in the morning. Beyond making sure that when he washed the dishes, hers were the first ones he cleaned, every time. Beyond leaving all the hot water for her and Maya, even if it meant stepping into a freezing shower himself when the temperatures were dropping fast.

She never noticed.

Or maybe she did. Because she had her own ways.

He wasn’t proud of how stupidly fond he got over the little things. The times he’d find his old boots, the ones he refused to part with, sitting by his bed freshly polished, patched up with rubber cement like new. Or how the busted projector in the dusty TV room—the one he’d given up on fixing—suddenly worked one night, humming quietly, waiting for him to indulge in some shitty action flick. She never made a big deal out of it and never expected anything in return. She just did things, because that’s how she loved.

God, the damn dopey grin he let out every time he caught on.

But they didn’t move in sync the way Tommy and Maria did around their home. here were rituals and rhythms, but they were dominoes—Joel would pick up where she left off.

Hell, they didn’t even sleep in the same bed. There was always a line. Physical. Emotional. Always a line, a place where he had to stop, where he had to get off.

He hated that fucking line.

He thought they’d been getting somewhere. That all the careful comforts, the small reassurances, the time—that it had chipped away at whatever was keeping her so guarded. Then there was that night.

That late night played back in his mind like a bad dream.

Leela, pacing back and forth, frustrated noises slipping past her throat, her blackboards covered in endless scribbles, eyes darting too fast, too desperate. Her hands shook as she wrote, erased, and rewrote. Then, suddenly, she just… crumpled. Joel found her there like that at two in the morning. Collapsed to her knees. Silent sobs racked her whole body, hands gripping at her hair, shoulders curling inward like she was trying to disappear into herself. The kind of cry that tore her apart, that was meant to be hidden.

It was like a jagged blade to the ribs, seeing her that way, and trying to ignore it. His Leela. His tireless, self-sufficient, do-everything-alone Leela, folded in on herself like a wounded animal.

He’d been on his knees before he even thought about it, hands reaching for hers.

“Hey, baby—” He cupped her palms, kissed them, trying to soothe her out. “It’s okay, darlin’. It’ll come to you.”

And then—she shoved him away. Like he burned her. Like she couldn’t stand him being there. “You don't know anything.”

“No,” he murmured, setting his palms on his knees, “but, talk me through it. I'm right here.”

And he tried to stroke the back of her head now, just to ground her to him, but before he could touch her, she'd jostled his hand off her.

“Please just leave me alone, please,” she’d choked out, voice small, broken. Final.

She might as well have reached into his chest and crushed his heart with her bare hands. He swallowed everything he wanted to say, everything he wanted to do, and stood up, silent. Left her there like he was the one who had misstepped.

And ever since that fucking breakthrough—the discovery she had been chasing for years on end—it had been like this. Slipping. Slipping deeper into whatever obsession had taken hold of her, staring past her own life's work like there was another world hidden behind it. Like she’d solved the last goddamn piece of the puzzle but couldn’t stop staring past it, searching for something else. A prisoner to her mind, a slave to her intellect—and he had no clue how to save her from herself.

He thought a discovery meant solace. That she’d finally rest. Kick back and focus on raising her perfect kid. Instead, she was spiralling. Faster. Harder. And he was left standing there, watching her slip through his fingers.

And maybe he should just let it happen. Let her go. Let her chase whatever was in her head, let it take her, let it swallow her whole. Ignore it, let it blow up in his face, pick up the pieces, and move on. It seemed like the easier option.

Because he sure as hell wasn’t dragging her on some death trip to L.A. to get a bunch of scholars’ rubber stamp of approval. And for what? To hear a bunch of stuck-up assholes tell her what she already knew? To chase after something that might not even be there anymore, past the patrol trails that promised nothing but death?

It wasn’t happening. Not on his watch.

“Joel, can you take this out to the kids, please?” Maria’s voice cut clean through his thoughts. He blinked, glancing up just as she pushed a bowl of garlic knots toward him. “Don’t want them starving before dinner’s done.”

Kids. How the hell Leela had ended up in that category was beyond him. But she’d started hanging around Ellie and her friends more, all of them messing around with her, out of good heart or the fuck of it, he did not know. They’d even managed to rope her into their little hijinks late into the night, like right now.

He’d seen Ellie dragging her outside earlier, that same oversized stack of star charts that Leela had gifted her tucked under her arm, Dina and Jesse trailing right after her with waves, and practically buzzing with excitement. He’d heard snippets of the invitation—something about mapping the constellations, something about seeing the stars “like they used to be.” And, to his surprise, Leela had actually gone along with them.

From inside, he’d catch the sound of laughter floating through the backyard. It wasn’t much, but hell, it was a little relief, knowing she was out there, around some good spirits, instead of pacing around those goddamn blackboards like she was trying to solve the meaning of life.

He stood to take the bowl out, but before he could even make it past the table—

“Da-da.”

Joel stopped in his tracks. Maya had her hands stretched toward him, little fingers grabbing at the air, grinning mouth already open in expectation.

“Pease gimme,” she demanded.

He snorted, reaching over to pop his finger between her lips instead. “Nice try, baby girl. Dinner first.”

“Pease, pease! Aw, da-da!” she whined, brown eyes big and pleading, nearly changing his heart, wriggling against Tommy’s chest in an attempt to get to him.

He just shook his head, slipping away toward the hallway. “Gotta do better than that.”

Tommy was already distracting her with a spoonful of tomato soup that was bubbling away by the time he stepped out the back door.

Outside, the kids were alright. Dina and Jesse were off to one side by the fences, heads bent together in their own little world. Joel should’ve broken them up, should’ve told them to leave some damn space between them, but—

His eyes flicked to Ellie instead.

She was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, staring at the happy couple long and hard. And the second she felt Joel watching her, she snapped her gaze away, clearing her throat and focusing on Leela instead. He tried not to dwell on it, though his brows shot right up in question.

Leela, on the other hand—she wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

She had her head tilted up, her gaze tracking the sky, that damn star map spread open in her hands. She was muttering under her breath, tracing something invisible in the air, her brows drawn together in deep concentration. That look she got—the one where her whole world shrank down to whatever puzzle was in front of her—alive, glowing.

It was the same look she had when she worked through some problem scrawled across her blackboards. The same look she had when she was fixing something—quiet, focused, all sharp edges and restless movement, pulling things apart just to put them back together again. It was amazing how much Maya looked like her mama, she had that exact same look when she tried to decipher the chords as he played guitar.

And god help him, he loved Leela like this. Loved the way she got lost in things, the way her mind worked like a racecar engine. Loved the way she’d get so caught up in the details that she’d forget the rest of the world existed, forget to eat, forget to sleep—loved it, even when it pissed him off.

Loved her. Jesus, it was amazing how his old ass could still get hooked on a girl like this.

Ellie barely had a second to react before he shoved the bowl into her chest. “Haven’t missed the boat just yet, kiddo,” he teased.

Ellie shot him a glare. “Oh, fuck you, Joel.” She shoved a garlic knot into her mouth. “I know Leela’s only tolerating your ass.”

Joel chuckled, stepping forward.

Leela was still lost in the map, tapping a finger against her temple, muttering under her breath as her eyes darted between the lines and symbols. Joel quietly came up behind her, lowering just enough to brush his lips against her ear.

“Lookin' up at your own kind?” he murmured.

Ellie, mid-chew, made an exaggerated gagging noise.

Joel, grumbling, kicked a lazy leg in her direction. “Get outta here. Go on, git.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, snatching another garlic knot from the bowl before slinking off into the house.

Joel, though—he stayed.

Leela finally glanced up from her map, blinking at him like she’d just realized he was there. The slight furrow of her brow softened, the haze of focus giving way to a quiet, warm smile. “Hi, Joel.”

That smile. His name shaped like a hymn on her lips. Subtle. A thing most people wouldn’t catch if they weren’t looking for it. But Joel was always looking, listening. And God, he loved catching her like this. Unaware, until she wasn’t.

He smiled back, slow and knowing, waiting for her to say something else, maybe acknowledge the way he’d lowered his voice just for her, the way he’d leaned in close enough for his breath to stir a few strands of her hair—

But she didn’t. She just turned back to her damn star chart, completely disregarded his sorry attempt at flirting, as if he was nothing more than a passing shadow.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. The only thing worse than flirting with Leela was getting ignored by her.

The air had shifted before he had even noticed. Not by much—just enough that he could feel it. The barely-there stiffness in her shoulders, all the implicit everything sinking in the inches between them.

Because this was the first time he’d properly approached her in two days. He hadn't crossed past the courtesies or bare necessities, this time, he felt like it had soothed over.

The last time being her breakdown. And she was here now—outside, breathing, looking up at the sky like she hadn’t spent days holed up in that house, tangled in her own mind. Like she was okay.

But Joel knew better.

Leela clucked her tongue, rolling up the chart in frustration. “It’s like I’m wasting my potential.” A sigh, thin and frayed at the edges. “I can’t think straight. I can’t find the stupid… star. Something’s wrong with me.”

Joel nudged his shoulder into hers, trying to shake something loose. “There ain't nothin’ wrong with you. You just need to get out of the house a little more.”

She shook her head, already brushing him off. “I’m not teaching at the school, Joel. I told you, it's not for me.”

There was something automatic about the way she said it—premeditated. A flicker of irritation behind her eyes, like she’d already decided where this conversation was going before he even had the chance to take it there.

Joel just lifted a brow. “Not askin' you to.”

Leela blinked, lips parting slightly. Like maybe she’d expected an argument. But he wasn’t Tommy or Maria. He wasn’t anyone else. He wasn’t trying to fix her.

Leela ran a hand down her face, rubbing at her eyes. “I just… it’s so incomplete.” Her voice wavered slightly, barely above a whisper. “I know I’m done, I ran the numbers a hundred times, but I—” She bit her lip, frustration flickering across her face. "I can’t stand the fact that I don’t have anything else to work toward.”

Joel studied her for a long moment.

This wasn’t just about the damn star chart. She needed something. A goal, a project—something to occupy her hands, her mind, something to pour herself into. Because without it, she was stuck in her own head. Stuck waiting.

He reached out, sliding a hand to the back of her head. His fingers traced slow, absentminded strokes before his arm draped heavy around her shoulders, pulling her into his side.

“You need a break, darlin’.”

Leela let herself sink against him, nestling her nose against the worn fabric of his shirt. Her hands slipped against his sides, resting at his ribs, tentative, like she hadn’t touched him in a while and wasn’t sure if she still could.

“And do what?”

“Help me fix up that swing for Maya’s birthday.”

Joel felt the small hitch in her breath before she even lifted her head.

“Maya’s—” She gasped, cupping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, her birthday. I completely—” Her voice broke slightly. “How did you know?”

Joel shrugged. “Did some mental math. She was barely a month old when we first met. Figure it’s comin’ up soon.”

Leela closed her eyes. “Yes. Christmas.”

“Holly jolly Christmas baby,” he said, snickering. He didn’t know if it was hard-luck or fortuitous that their baby girl’s birthday overlapped with a holiday.

Leela groaned softly, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. “I’m a terrible mother.”

Joel made a derisive noise, picking her hands off her eyes before cupping her cold cheek. “Nah, just a scatterbrained one.”

And when she finally laughed—light, breathy, warm—it was as if he’d struck gold.

He let himself look at her then. Her long hair was a mess, spilling around her face from the loose braid, wild and tangled from where she’d been tugging at it in frustration. The stars flecked in her big, dark eyes, dim and soft, like the whole night sky had been stitched there just for him.

Christ, he loved her. It hit him in strange moments like this. Not in the middle of some grand declaration, not when they were on the brink of tragedy. Just here. Just in the way she folded against him, breathing slow, in the way she trusted him enough to let her guard down.

Joel brushed his thumb against her temple. “You’re alright, you know that?”

Leela blinked. “What?”

“You,” he murmured. “You’re doin' okay. I've got you now.”

A breath. Then she smiled—small, almost imperceptible, but there. And Joel, stupid, old fool that he was—he fucking melted.

Because he’d said nothing special. Just a handful of words, low and gruff and barely above a whisper. And yet—there was something in her eyes now, reassurance, like she needed to hear it, and she hadn’t let herself believe it until now. Until he said it. Until it came from him.

She tiptoed, her forehead leaning into his, her fingers curling lightly into his shirt. He could feel the warmth of her breath, feel the way she hesitated for just a second, like maybe she was unsure—

But then she kissed him.

Slow, soft, uncertain, and God help him, but he could’ve crushed her right into his bones. “Right now?”

“Just a little one,” she whispered against his lips.

“Killin' me.”

Because it had been too fucking long since he had her like this—since she let him have her like this. And for weeks now, ever since that weed trip of hers, he’d been holding himself back, watching her from a distance, all while within their house, twenty-four by seven, just waiting for the right moment.

His large hand found the curve of her throat, his thumb pressing gently beneath her jaw as he tilted her into his smiling lips, deepening the kiss. She tasted of him, of her, a blend of them both, and Joel wanted to drown in it.

She made a soft noise against his lips, barely there, but felt, and he was already stretching for her ass, already—

“Mama!”

Joel flinched, eyes still half-lidded, mind heady with her, with them, but—Leela broke away immediately, her head snapping toward the deck.

And there stood Maya. The little menace herself, gripping the railing for balance, two entire garlic knots stuffed in her tiny fist.

Joel sighed sharply, tilting his head back toward the sky. Just on time, the peanut-butt cockblocker.

Maya’s attention wasn’t on them, though. No, she was too focused on her real struggle—getting herself down the stairs while holding onto both knots, because apparently, letting go was out of the question.

Joel huffed, already moving. “Hey-ey—now, who the heck gave you those?”

Because Maya didn’t just find food. No, that kid knew exactly who to ask and how to ask. A little manipulator before she even hit two years old.

Maya just grinned at him, all teeth and mischief, one cheek puffed out with the stolen bread, and Joel didn’t even have to guess which poor soul had caved under that wide-eyed, baby-faced con job.

He reached for Maya's hand. “Gimme that. Didn’t I tell you no snacks before dinner?”

And because she was, without a doubt, his worst nightmare—she twisted away from him with a high-pitched squeal, shoving another bite into her mouth as she waddled to the other side of the deck.

Joel sighed. “Goddamn it, trouble.”

Behind him, Leela laughed with her daughter, already climbing up onto the deck. “Alright. C’mere, baby.”

Maya didn’t fight her. Just beamed up at her mama, eyes bright and full of adoration. Leela crouched before her, brushing at the curls on her forehead.

“Can you feed Mama one?”

And just like that—without hesitation—Maya held one out. Anything her mother said, she followed. Anything at all. It was Joel she was coming to rebel against with her little cheekiness. And Joel being completely susceptible to her charms, fell for it constantly.

Leela leaned in, mouth open, and Maya giggled before pushing the knot between her lips.

Joel shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, watching them. Leela, the master Maya manipulator, struck once more.

She hummed in approval, chewing theatrically. “Mmm, so good. One more, please?”

And Maya, delighted, shoved the other half-eaten, slobbery garlic knot into her mother’s mouth.

Joel made a noise. “Jesus.”

Leela, struggling through a laugh, wiped her mouth, grinning. “Thank you, baby.”

Maya clapped her hands together, voice piping up—“No-mo.”

Leela licked some garlic butter from her thumb, grunting as lifted Maya onto her hip. “Let’s get something real to eat before your poor dad pops a vein on his head.”

Joel scoffed, following them up the stairs, feeling every damn step in his knees. “Pop a vein—psh, yeah, you wish.”

Dinner with the Millers' was always a big thing nowadays. Joel, finally, had found himself growing used to the way the table felt a little more complete now, moored closer to one of his own.

Back in the old days—hell, even when it was just him and Tess in Boston—meals were quiet, nothing but the clink of cutlery, the scrape of bowls, the occasional grunt of acknowledgement if someone asked for the last bite. Food had been something to get through, not something to enjoy.

But here? This? It was a whole damn production.

It seemed like Leela, Maria, and Tommy were trying to outdo each other on every dinner occasion. Joel never saw them outright say it, but the evidence was all right here—plates filled to the brim with roasted vegetables and some sort of braised meat that smelled damn near decadent. There was even fresh bread, sliced and golden, butter melting into the soft notches. Warmth, everywhere—lamplight spilling golden across the table, the faint crackle of the fireplace, boots nudging against each other under the table.

And noise. So much noise.

Jesse had ducked out early, leaving Dina to make herself at home beside Ellie, and it didn’t take long for them to get into it.

“Okay, but that is not how you use a fuckin' knife,” Ellie was saying, waving her fork in Dina’s face.

Maria sighed. “There's a talking toddler at the table.”

As if on cue, Maya smacked her little hand onto the table. Ellie showed her teeth at her, sheepish. “My bad.”

Dina rolled her eyes, all dramatic. “Well, excuse me for not being a serial killer, Miss ‘Lemme Show You The Proper Stabbing Technique.’”

Joel smirked at that one, chewing on a piece of trout.

It was a different kind of comfort. Something he still wasn’t used to—this abundance after a long time.

And then there was Leela, stealing his heart, piece by piece. The way she’d always scooted her chair a little closer to his. The way her knee brushed his under the table. The way she let him rest a hand over her thigh, stroke it when he was tense like it was all his. The way she’d laugh when someone cracked a joke at his expense—which was often—squeezing his shoulder like he was some goddamn kicked puppy before turning back to her plate.

Didn’t even take long for that to happen. Joel knew Tommy had that look in his eye—that look, the one that meant he was about to open his dumbass mouth. And sure enough...

“So,” Tommy started, all innocent-like. “How's shackin’ up in the big house treatin’ ya, Mensch Miller?”

Joel wanted to put his fork through his brother’s skull. Right between the eyes. So, he barely spared him a glance. “Go to hell.”

Tommy snorted. “C’mon now, ain't no shame in it. We're all real proud of you for finally gettin’ over your fear of commitment. Folks?”

A round of agreements circled the table—Maria, Dina, even Ellie with a smirk and a nod, like they’d all been waiting for this exact moment. Joel sighed through his nose, already regretting every life choice that led him to this.

Dina leaned in, grinning. “Oh my God. Joel, did you finally put a ring on it?”

Ellie snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause there’s so many jewellery stores open these days.”

Joel shot her a flat look. “Could always carve one outta bone.”

Dina sighed with literal heart eyes. “Aww. So metal.”

Ellie recoiled instead. "Dude—what the actual fuck?"

Tommy wheezed at that one. But Leela didn’t react much at all. Just blinked at them, her expression blank, like she had no idea why the hell they were making such a big deal out of it. Then, casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world—

“We’re partners,” she said simply, reaching up to his jaw, nails scraping at his scruff. “Right, Joel?”

Joel damn near choked on his own tongue.

Because—what the hell? She wasn’t one for casual touches, wasn’t one for public anything, really. Wasn't some joke, not a passing comment—she just said it, plain as anything. Like it was a truth she’d already made peace with.

Partners. Not a maybe. Not a half-measure. A fact. Halves. Two mates. And it knocked the wind right out of him.

Because Joel had spent so damn long waiting—waiting for her to say something, to define this thing between them, to give him even the smallest indication that she saw him as more than just a man passing through her life.

And here she was, not making a big deal out of it. Not afraid of it, simply stating the obvious. Because fuck, she was right. They were partners now. He had a partner now.

A slow sip of his drink was the only thing that kept him from making an absolute fool of himself.

Dina cackled, slapping the table. “Look at his face. I frickin' love you, Leela.”

Ellie groaned, shoving a bite of food into her mouth. “Jesus, you two deserve each other.”

Maria smirked. “So when’s the big day?”

Dina hummed. “Mm-mm, she'll have to wait, Joel promised to make the ring out of bone.”

Ellie gagged. “Oh my God, Dina—could you please stop with the bone talk?”

Tommy snickered, elbowing him. “Never thought I’d see the day. Big brother all wrangled up.”

Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know I got a gun, right?”

Tommy waved a hand, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah. But you ain't shootin’ me ‘cause our baby girl would be real mad at you.”

And then, of course, there was his baby girl in the midst of all this. It had become second nature by now—the back-and-forth of it all, alternating between holding Maya, fending off his teasing family, and feeding her.

Not that it was much of a competition with her. Most of the time, she quietly ended up in his lap, legs dangling over his thigh, picking curiously at the old scar on his forearm as he spooned food into her mouth.

Leela swore she’d grow out of that habit, but Joel wasn’t so sure. He’d seen that girl study the mark like it held the secrets of the universe since she was a few months old. Tiny fingers tracing the jagged edges, soft and intent, like she was mapping him.

Didn’t matter what he put in front of her—if he ate it, she ate it.

Thank God she wasn’t a picky eater like her mama. He still remembered the first few months of trying to get Leela to eat like a normal person—always picking at her food, losing her appetite, always eating just enough and nothing more.

But Maya? Shit. She was his. His perfect little girl—but nothing like him. Loud, expressive, always moving, always talking. She loved to babble, loved to laugh, loved to feed him right from his own damn plate.

“Da-da, aah.”

He moved his head away. “Nuh-uh. Sit your little butt down.”

“Dinna, da-da.”

“I can eat my own dinner, thanks.”

When her adamant whine pierced through the noise on the table, he gave up. Joel barely glanced at her, already sighing as he opened his mouth.

Sure enough, Maya balanced her pudgy feet on his lap and shoved a forkful of fish into his mouth, giggling like she’d just accomplished something huge.

Joel chewed slowly, unimpressed. “Real nice.”

And then—just to add insult to injury—she reached up and patted his forehead, all delicate and reassuring, just like her mama did to her whenever she did something right.

Ellie snorted. “She's just teaching you manners, old man.”

Dina smirked. “Yeah, ever heard of ‘em?”

He shot them both a look but swallowed the bite anyway. Maya squealed like she knew she was being funny, then reached out for his plate again.

Joel sighed, nudging her grabby fingers away. “Alright, move it, baby girl. Ain’t no way you’re finishing my plate before I do.”

The conversation rolled on around him, blending into laughter and stories. Joel drifted in and out of it, shifting his focus between indulging Maya’s antics and half-listening to Tommy and Maria trade jabs about whose turn it was to cook next.

At some point, the conversation took a turn.

“So,” Tommy started, leaning back in his chair. “What’s next, Lee? The last big thing was that lightning harvester. Then you set up the new water filtration thing.” He gestured vaguely as if the list of things she’d accomplished was casual, nothing major. “You always got somethin’ cookin’. What’s next for Jackson?”

The table quieted just a fraction, all eyes shifting toward Leela with a familiar kind of expectation.

Joel felt her stiffen beside him. She didn’t answer right away, just glanced around at them—Dina, Ellie, Maria, Tommy—all waiting for some brilliant, world-changing answer.

But only Joel knew the sleepless nights, he’d seen her try to redo the math, rework the impossible, just to feel like she had something left to solve. So all he’d been able to do was let her at it, leave her to her circles and theories, and go back to bed, waiting for her to wear herself out. He knew that math of hers had wrecked her—driven her to the edge of exhaustion, of obsession.

And now, sitting here, she looked like she wanted to vanish.

So before the silence could stretch too long before they could push her for something she wasn’t ready to say—Joel spoke for her.

“She actually solved the Riemann hypothesis,” he said, casual as anything, like he was commenting on the weather. A little smug, too.

A beat.

Dina blinked. “The—what?”

Ellie narrowed her eyes. “You just made that up.”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Nah. It’s a real thing.” He reached for his water and took a slow sip. “Some math theory. Big deal, apparently. Heck if I knew.”

Tommy, to his credit, pretended like he was just hearing about it for the first time, looking between Joel and Leela with exaggerated surprise.

Dina scoffed. “You don’t know?”

Joel gave her a look. “Do I look like someone who spends his time thinkin’ about math?”

Ellie snorted. “Okay, but you can’t just say it’s a big deal and not even try to explain it.”

Joel sighed again, this time more dramatically, because this truly was exhausting him. “Alright. Uh… somethin’ ‘bout numbers. Division. Shit, I don’t fuckin’ know.” He absently stroked Maya's curls. “S’got a lotta squiggles and letters. But little miss genius figured it out.”

Ellie’s face twisted to a shit-eating grin. “Squiggles?”

Joel turned to Leela, mortified at himself, seeking some reprieve. “Tell ‘em.”

Leela, looking a little like she wanted to shrink into the floor, tucked her hair behind her ear and gave a small nod. “I um, did prove the theory. Took my family a really long time to complete.”

“Wait, actually. I've read about Riemann,” Dina went on, straightening in her seat. “That’s the whole—prime numbers thing—no one’s been able to solve that, right? And if you did, you get like a million dollars or something?”

Leela barely glanced up. “Yes, actually. Millenium Prize problem.”

Joel, watching her carefully, felt the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants under the table.

Ellie leaned in. “Okay, but like—now what? You can’t just—sit on that, right? Don’t you have to tell someone?”

Leela exhaled, slowly. “It’s… complicated. Our world isn't the way it was.”

Joel saw it—the way her shoulders went tight, the way her face shut down.

Dina wasn’t getting it. “How? This is, like, huge. You should—”

Maria, sensing the tension, jumped in smoothly. “What about you, honey? You got any idea on this?”

Tommy, still side-eyeing Joel, shrugged. “Nah. Not a clue.” He sipped his drink. “I was more into the rabble-rousin’ with the Fireflies. And these FEDRA shits wouldn't care about all that.”

Joel let out a tense breath.

Dina groaned dramatically, throwing herself back in her chair. “Man. Would’ve been so cool to have your name in a book. Or somewhere. Professor of Mathematics, Leela.”

Leela managed a small smile, but her gaze had gone distant.

And Joel hated it. Hated that look. That quiet, almost-accepting disappointment.

He hated that she knew this world didn’t have room for her name in a book. That she’d spent years solving a problem no one would ever see, ever care about. And that should’ve been fine, right? Should’ve been something she could accept. But it wasn’t, because despite everything, despite how much she pretended not to care, she did.

And Joel, he wished like hell there was something he could do about it. That tiny drop of hope snuffed out in her eyes. Like for half a second, she thought—maybe there was a world where what she’d done actually mattered.

And it did. Just not in a way that’d ever change a damn thing.

Joel clenched his jaw, staring down at his glass like it might hold an answer.

There weren’t any. Not for this.

Because he knew how he could help her. Knew there were people—out west, in LA—who might care, who might listen, who might actually do something with what she’d done. There were still Fireflies, still remnants of old-world thinkers, people scraping together the last bits of science that hadn’t been buried under blood and ruin.

And if he told her—if he let her know they existed—she might go.

Leave him. Leave their perfect baby girl. Leave home. And that—he couldn’t let happen.

He needed her here.

Call him selfish? Monomaniacal? Maybe. But he didn’t give a fuck.

Joel had lived his life losing. Lost Sarah, lost Tess, lost whatever scraps of himself made him good once. And now—now, he had her. Had Maya. Had a reason to come home at the end of the day that wasn’t just the routine of it. He had that little vestige of trust and faith back in him, even if the ghosts lingered. He slept knowing he was going to wake up with purpose that wasn't just behind the flare of a rifle or the scent of blood. He had love, a warm home, all this food, these people.

And if Leela left—No.

He wouldn’t think about that. Not ever. He'd give up his breath before she risked it like a fucking idiot.

So he’d keep his mouth shut. Play dumb. Let the world stay small for her, even when she was meant for something bigger. Even when he saw the ache of it in her eyes. Even when he hated himself for it. But that was fine, he'd grown used to his hate.

So he did the only thing he could do—he raised his damn glass.

“To Leela,” he said, confident, eyes warm when they landed on her. “For doin’ the impossible.”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes widening just a fraction. Under the table, her fingers curled tight around his knee, firm—don’t.

She wasn’t the type to bask in praise, wasn’t one to revel in attention. But Joel wasn’t gonna let her disappear into the silence. So instead of backing down, he just smirked, pried her hand off his knee, and brought it to his lips.

His mouth was rough, the scrape of his beard even rougher, but the way he kissed her knuckles—gentle, slow, promising. A prayer he wouldn’t say out loud.

She froze up, breath catching just enough for him to notice, just enough to make his heart slam against his ribs. This was good. She was okay.

The table had gone quiet.

Then Tommy grinned, lifting his glass. “To Lee.”

Maria followed, then Ellie and Dina, voices echoing the words, raising their drinks. “To Leela.”

And then—clap, clap, clap! Maya, grinning wide, smacked her little hands together, delighted by the sudden chorus of voices, as if she had any clue what was happening.

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You like that, baby?”

Maya just kept clapping, giggling as she looked between Joel and Leela, as if she understood this was about her mama, and that meant it was something right.

And Leela—God, she was looking at him now, like he was impossible, like she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss him or kill him. Joel just held her hand tight, letting his thumb trace slow circles into her skin.

“You deserve it,” he murmured in her ear, meant just for her.

Leela let out a soft breath, almost like a sigh. Then, with barely a beat between them, she squeezed his hand right back.

X

Joel knew he had it good because the thought of reality was the only thing keeping him awake. After all, it felt like his dreams had come true.

But of course, nowadays, when Joel slept, he closed his eyes and he fell deeply, just as he did in love and loss, displaced of his path back. When he did ultimately open his eyes once more to the old patterned ceiling, tucked up in a disgustingly comfortable bed, within a house you could hear the wind slide under the eaves, the soft creak of the old floors settling, Maya’s soft little snores down the hall, the occasional rustle of sheets when Leela moved on her bed, he wasn’t sure when life had slowed down like this, when the days stopped being about surviving and started being about living.

Whatever it was, it was all Leela. She had insisted he take the biggest room when he moved in, and she wouldn’t hear a word otherwise. Stubborn as a damn mule, she’d just stared him down when he tried to argue, and—hell. It wasn’t like he minded. The room was ridiculous, the bathroom even more, with more closet space than he’d ever need, but the real saving grace was the football-field-sized bed.

Probably a thousand silky white pillows, freshly washed and dusted, stacked against a plush leather headboard, spilling over a white duvet. Bed to end all beds. Big enough to sink in between. Lonely enough when it got dark. Close enough to Maya’s nursery that when she woke in the middle of the night, whimpering softly in the dark, he was already moving, already lifting her up before she got too lonely.

Outside, winter had crept in slowly. Mornings turned from golden to white, breaths corkscrewing in steam ribbons against the cold. The sky was that sharp, steel-grey that told you snow wasn’t far behind, and Joel had started waking up to a frost-lined world, rooftops silvered, trees edged in ice.

December now, and Jackson was easing into the Christmas season and spirit—garlands strung between shop corners, lights winking from one lamppost to the next, a huge tree going up in the square, handmade ornaments showing up on doors. He had his own big efforts for Maya's first birthday and Christmas.

And then—just like the night before—it hit him.

Maya was turning one soon. The thought still knocked something loose in him. This tiny thing, this impossibly small, impossibly bright piece of his world who barely reached his knee. Who stumbled around in her little boots like she had somewhere really important to be. Who giggled like it could undo every bad thing in the world, cutting straight through the cold, through the ache in his bones, like it was nothing.

His girl. God, that was still a hard thing to wrap his head around. That she belonged to him. That he belonged to her.

He lay back against the pillows, an arm resting behind his head, and let his fingers graze the stack of Polaroids and photographs scattered across his nightstand. He flipped through each one slowly like one of Maya's bedtime stories, but only this one was real.

One of him and Ellie, captured by Leela, sprawled out on the porch swing, their boots propped up against the rail. Ellie mid-laugh, a cup of iced lemonade dangling from her fingers, frozen in time. He could almost hear her voice, thick with dry humour, and see the way her nose scrunched when she got to the best part of whatever story she was telling.

Tommy, Maria and him, once again captured by Leela, arms slung around each other at the hoedown, cowboy hats tilted over their heads, two of them tipsy and flushed. A night of music and good beer and warmth—the kind of warmth that had been rare for too long. The kind they hadn’t thought they’d find again.

And then—his fingers slowed.

One of them. Pretty sure it was Ellie who took this one. Maya, wedged between him and Leela, four little teeth showing, curls and eyes shining, a fork clutched in her fist, attention stolen by something off-camera. Leela, so beautiful under the flash, one hand curled protectively at Maya’s back, the other resting lightly on the table. And Joel, beside them both, his smile unsure, caught between trying to look natural and trying not to think too much about how unnatural it still felt—being in a picture like this.

But when he looked at it now—it looked so real. The family aspect of it.

He held the photo at arm’s length, studying it, the three of them together.

Though he looked apart from them. Incohesive. Hell, anyone would say it. The rougher, older edges of him, the shade of his skin and theirs, the texture of his hair and their black locks, the way his eyes weren’t the same big, almond eyes. Maya had Leela’s delicate features, her wide dark gaze, and her gentle intensity. And him—well, he was just there. An outsider, a man slotted into the frame, but not quite of it.

Except… that wasn’t true, was it?

Because if he looked long enough, he could see it. The shape of familiarity, how lived-in he seemed.

The way Maya leaned toward him in the picture, just slightly, even distracted as she was. The way Leela’s fingers curled gently toward his wrist, even unconsciously. The way he fit there, in the space beside them, not because he forced it, but because—somehow, without realizing it—he belonged there.

It made sense. Anyone who looked at this—anyone who knew—they’d know exactly what they were to each other.

He swallowed thickly, staring at the picture like it might shift in his hands or it might tell him something new. He wanted to keep it that way, within this frame, the three of them, until the time was up. God, how long would that be? Another few years?

A knock at his door pulled him from it, and he blinked, turning his head.

Leela pushed the door open slightly, peering inside. “Sorry. Do you have some time?”

He had his whole life for her, even if it was overkill. Joel cleared his throat, setting the Polaroids aside. “Always.”

She stepped inside, and Christ.

She was barefoot, those thin gold-chain anklets winking at him in the low light. The soft curve of her calves disappeared beneath the loose folds of that goddamn pearl-button nightdress—the one that never failed to drive him insane. It was slipping off her shoulder just enough to make his life miserable, the bare silhouette of her body teasing at the edges of his vision, itching his palms with the worst kind of temptation.

Joel sat up, rubbing a slow hand down his face, across the scruff along his jaw, suddenly feeling a hell of a lot more awake.

She didn’t hesitate, swishing the fabric under her as she perched on the edge of his bed, legs dangling off.

“I was just on the swing set before it started to snow,” she told him, her voice all wistful. “I think I might love it more than Maya does.”

Joel chuckled, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how baby girl’s gonna feel about sharing.”

It hadn’t taken him long to put together the swing set that stood proudly in the front yard—just a hell of a lot of effort, some cursing under his breath, and more muscle than he cared to admit. Sturdy wood, painted deep green, with painted pink and yellow flowers curling along the edges. The seat hung from two thick ropes, knotted tight, built to last. All safe and ready for his little girl.

Leela had helped, like she promised—though if her irritated grumbling was anything to go by, woodworking sure as hell wasn’t her calling. She hadn’t complained once about the splinters, but he caught her wincing every time she flexed her fingers, scowling down at the stubborn bits of wood lodged in her skin.

Joel, now, watched the way her gaze flicked to the photographs near his pillow, her expression shifting—soft, thoughtful. He didn’t move, just waited, letting her take her time.

Her brows furrowed slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “How are your feet?”

Joel smirked, sinking back onto one elbow. “They're toasty, thanks.”

She pulled one knee up to her chest, resting her chin on it, fingers absently picking at a loose thread on her nightdress. “Mine too.” A grin flickered across her face. “I feel like my parents around you nowadays.”

That had him raising an eyebrow. “How's that now?”

Leela hesitated, her fingers stilling. Then, almost cautiously, she said, “You know… a couple. Partners. Married.” That last word barely even made the breath.

Joel stayed quiet, processing that for a moment. Shit, he couldn't. He almost blacked out.

“They were so crazy in love, Joel. Even at eighty.” A fond laugh slipped from her. “Dad would have her coffee ready every morning, help her tie her shoelaces, and open doors for her. Dance with her every night before bed. Never let her raise a finger around the home, even after the whole world came crumbling down around us.”

She smiled to herself, the memory a gentle thing.

“I’m gonna make you the happiest, fattest, laziest wifey in Jackson, sweetheart,” she recited, voice taking on a deep, playful lilt, like she was echoing her father's exact words.

Joel huffed out a laugh. “Sounds like a stand-up fella'.”

Leela nodded, then faltered, her lips parting like there was something else—something she wasn’t sure she should say. Joel waited, his fingers twitching against the blanket, patient.

Then softly, quietly, “He would've liked you.”

Joel looked away, to itch at his temple, hiding a grin. The thought of this man—the man who had made Leela feel safe, loved—looking at him and thinking he’s good enough for my little girl? No, he would've given him a hard time. Especially since no one stood to compare to Leela, much less a man like Joel, hitting sixty and greying. Her father would've come at him with his expensive shotgun.

Leela’s gaze lifted to his, eyes foolproof. She took a breath. “I feel like that with you.”

Joel's throat worked tough. His body had already moved before his mind caught up, his hand reaching out, fingers trailing along her temple, dipping into the thick waves of her hair.

“Like a fat, lazy wifey?” he murmured.

Leela let out a tiny, breathless laugh and immediately covered her face with both hands, her shoulders curling in. “Yeah. Is that bad?”

Joel’s grin pulled at his mouth, satisfaction sitting right on his bones. His thumb brushed over the curve of her cheek, a little more deliberate now, a little more his. “That’s the goal, sweetheart.”

Leela peeked at him through her fingers, then, as if gathering herself, slowly reached out and took his hand from her face. She held it in her lap, turning it over, tracing the rough lines of his palm. The callouses, the broken skin, the deep grooves time had worn into him.

She ran her thumb along the ridge of a scar, a flash of quiet passing through her expression. Not pity—Leela never looked at him like that. Just knowing. Understanding.

“Do you remember what you told me?” she murmured, still studying his hand, watching the way her fingers disappeared against the breadth of his palm. “That night after the bar?”

Joel exhaled, a deep thing, pulse hammering up his veins. “Do you?”

She squinted, like she was trying to piece a puzzle together, like it lived just at the edges of her memory.

“I don’t remember much. It's hazy.” Her voice dipped even quieter. “You told me you love me.”

Joel swallowed. His fingers flexed against hers before curling, his palm pressing lightly to her own like she might slip away if he didn’t hold onto her properly.

“And I’ll say it again,” he assured.

Leela finally looked up, meeting his gaze fully. Her fingers curled tighter around his hand, holding him there.

“I want to feel you now, Joel,” she said, soft but sure, like it was something she had already decided. “Loving all of me.”

A deep and molten flame uncoiled in him at her words, cracked something wide open.

Because she remembered. And he remembered the way she had trembled under him that night, high and reckless and desperate for something he wouldn’t give her. And he had whispered the only inevitable promise that he had ever felt—

“One day, when I’m deep inside you, I am all you're gonna be thinkin' of. Just me, loving all of you.”

And now—now Leela was here, in front of him, sober and clear-eyed and asking him for the very thing he had promised her.

Joel didn’t rush. He just reached for her, wanting and calm, his fingers trailing from her wrist, up the length of her arm, to her chin. He tilted her face toward him, waiting. Giving her the space to change her mind.

Leela stared at him, eyes, lips, eyes, lips, and it had him in agony. A prolonged soon enough, she simply lifted her lips to his like an offering.

And he took.

He kissed her like a man who had gone without for too long, hands crushing her closer to him, like a man afraid to break the very thing he craved. Worshipping her was softer than before because now he knew she wanted this. He knew she was choosing this. Choosing him. Out of all the sick, sorry bastards in this world, she picked him. Him.

“Gonna make you feel good,” he promised between kisses, hungering forward for more. “I'll make you feel like a queen, baby. I'll give you everything.”

Her fingers trailed up, skimming the scruff at his neck before splaying over his chest. The warmth of her touch shot straight through him, and he exhaled against her mouth, pressing closer. Mad, so mad for this.

Then, gently, he guided her hands to his shirt buttons.

He wasn’t in any hurry. This wasn’t about taking—this was about letting. Letting her have control, letting her set the pace, letting her know she could stop whenever she wanted.

Leela pulled away just enough to glance down at his shirt, her breath catching.

“Go on then, help me out,” he urged.

That’s when he saw it—the hesitation. The clear-cut hysteria that hadn’t been there last time, numbed to the effects of weed. With her clarity came everything else. Every dread, every old wound, every aching recollection, every scar she carried in places he couldn’t see.

Joel stayed still, barely breathing, watching the way her fingers hovered over the buttons, how they trembled as she carefully popped the first one open. Then the next and next.

She pushed the fabric from his shoulders, her hands mapping him quietly, tracing it all. She touched everything—the pale scars left by unseen blades, the sealed bullet wounds, the old burns, the places where life had carved him up and forced him to heal around the damage. Her dark gaze lingered on the fine scruff dusting his chest, palms gliding lower, following the path where dark hair thinned down his stomach before vanishing beneath his waistband.

She wasn’t just looking. She was memorizing. Good, let her. This was all hers anyway.

“Ruined,” he mumbled.

“Survived,” she corrected.

He slid the sleeves off his arms, balling his shirt up in his hands before tossing it aside. Joel leaned back against the headboard like a king waiting on a feast, his legs spreading slightly, the muscles in his stomach flexing as he breathed. His gaze was heavy-lidded, thick, deep and everything unspoken.

Then, slowly, he stroked a palm over his thigh. “Come sit, darlin’.”

Leela hesitated. He could see it in the way her fingers curled and uncurled on the duvet, like she was feeling her way through the moment. But she followed, just like he knew she would, crawling over until she was straddling him, the seam of her legs spread over his zipper, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.

Joel felt the warmth of her, the light press of her thighs against him, the way her breath hitched when her hands came to his shoulders, fingers curling lightly over muscle and scar.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “You're just perfect, aren't you?”

She nodded. Then blinked in realization, then shook her head, sighing. “Shut up.”

“Psh. Look at you. I ain't gonna.”

His own hands found her waist, steadying her, tracing slow circles over the fabric of her nightdress. This girl was made to be loved.

Then his fingers slid up, tracing her figure, until he was right over those goddamn pearl buttons.

He wanted to take them apart with his teeth, but that wasn’t the way to do this—not tonight. So he traced the cool surface of each one before carefully slipping them free, one by one, big fingers graceless over the little buttons.

The moment the last one came undone, he leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers, watching every flicker of emotion cross her face. The anxiety, the confusion... the curiosity way beneath it. Observing him.

And then he sank his teeth into the delicate skin on her sternum.

Leela sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening on his biceps.

Joel groaned against her, dragging his lips over the mark, spreading slow, open-mouthed kisses over the same spot, soothing it, claiming it.

He let the thin sleeves slide off her shoulders, watching the way the fabric slipped down her arms, pooling at her midriff.

Joel exhaled sharply, his grip tightening just a fraction before smoothing over her skin again like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Because Christ, how was she real? Where had that lonely, grey fart upstairs been hiding her all this time?

She was all honey-warm skin and soft, dusky curves. Her breasts rose and fell with each uneven breath, her ribs tautening, beneath the subtle dip of her waist. His gaze traced the gentle flare of her hips, the little softness at her love handles, the way her toned stomach tensed as she held herself still, waiting—watching him with those deep, knowing eyes.

“Joel?” she whispered.

“You're...” He blinked twice. “You're so beautiful.”

For a terrible lack of words, he wasn't exactly a fucking poet. He really wanted to tell her that she was the Powerball lottery in his life, that even her smartass brain was sexy, and that when she breathed, he was pretty sure a flower bloomed right under her damn feet.

But she managed a quiet laugh. “Oh-kay.”

And Joel had never believed in God much, but if there was one, he’d have to offer up a damn prayer of thanks. Only took thirty whole years.

He let his hands roam, rough fingertips skating over the curve of her waist, following the soft lines of her body. She was delicate, strong, warm, and hesitant, all at once, and beneath the tension in her shoulders, he could feel the slight tremble in her limbs.

She trusted him with this. With herself.

Joel wasn’t about to fuck that up. So he took his time.

He smoothed his palms over her ribs, feeling the way her bones flexed beneath his touch. His thumbs brushed over her perfect nipples, the peaks stiffening, drawing the softest sound from her throat—a breathy little whimper that damn near destroyed him.

His control hung by a thread as he ducked his head, finally taking her into his mouth.

His lips closed over her, hot and slow, his tongue flicking, tasting, teasing. He lavished her with attention, spreading kisses across the swell of one, then the other, loving them equally, thoroughly.

“Fuckin' don't deserve any of this,” he said through his teeth, clutched on a nipple.

“What are you...” she whispered.

He was surrounded by Leela, arching into him, encouraging his lips where she wanted him, and he didn't spare a thought to her instincts. If she wanted him, she'd have it. Her fingers trembled before they slid into his hair, sweeping back through the silver-streaked strands, holding him there like she was trying to commit the sight of him—eyes half-closed, mouth on her, glorifying her—to memory.

Then, without thinking, Joel bit down—just enough to pull a sound from her throat, her grip on his hair tightening, nails scraping against his scalp.

Didn’t think she’d like that. But she did. Nice.

“Joel,” she whispered.

His smirk was slow, lazy, drawn out against her flushed skin as he let his tongue wander over the reddening mark he’d left before sealing it with a leisurely, possessive suck.

“Shit, baby,” he muttered, voice gone husky. “If this is what you taste like here, can’t imagine what you taste like down there.”

Leela’s breath hitched hard. “Down what…?”

The way she said it—uncertain, like the thought had never fully occurred to her—lit a fire in his gut. Primal, claiming, wanting. Frantic.

She wouldn’t know. Of course, she wouldn’t.

It wasn’t like there had been time for teenage exploration when the world had gone to hell. No fumbling hands in the dark, no stolen kisses at parties, no whispered giggles between sheets. Sex was a free-for-all in QZs obviously, and he sure as hell doubted porn had been a practicality when she’d been at that wonderful age of curiosity.

Which meant this—the way she looked at him, the way her breaths stared back up when he so much as hinted at what he wanted to do—was something else entirely.

Yeah, Joel had never been more careful in his damn life.

“Christ,” he rasped, dragging his hands slowly down her back, fingers tracing the dip of her spine, the delicate lines of her body. "Well, at least a little touch. Lemme feel you.”

“Feel,” she murmured, confused.

He showed her his hand. Then two fingers. Then his thumb. Hoping that was enough for her to get the message across. “Feel.”

She hesitated for only a moment, but then—God help him—she nodded. That was all the permission he needed.

“Let's get this off you,” he muttered. “Wanna see you.”

He eased the night dress up and over her head, watching the fabric pool around her before slipping off completely. Her thick braid slapped softly against her back, and then—there she was.

All herself. Just Leela.

She sat before him in nothing but those little white linen panties, tied into thick knots at her hips—ruffled edges, sweet, soft, so goddamn cute—and his. Yeah, his. All mine.

And then his hands were on her again, slow, reverent, like he had the luxury of time. Because he did. Because this was about her, about her knowing she was safe, knowing she was loved, knowing he'd go wherever she liked him to.

His longest finger wandered closer and closer from her hips, and brushed beneath the edge of her panties, a featherlight bump against that warm, soft groove. Just to let her know.

His jaw clenched, muscles locking as he willed himself to go slow, to savour every second of this, to feel her breathe against his cheek as he did it.

Her eyes flickered up to his, eyes locking. Wide. Waiting. Knowing this wasn't over.

He held her gaze as he pushed further in between her folds, just enough to feel the heat of her, the damp silk of her against his fingertips—aching, perfect, warm.

Her lips parted. A little gasp, barely a sound.

And then her eyes fluttered shut.

He felt it the second she let go, the second she allowed herself to slip into it, to trust what he was doing to her.

His coarse fingers carefully traced, explored, and learned. A decade out of practice, but instincts were instincts. And he knew how to listen—how to really listen. The way her breaths stuttered when he circled just right with the pad of his thumb at the little bud of nerves, the way her body clenched when he curled deeper inside where he needed to. When his fingers worked her low and slow, in loving accuracy, how she completely arched into him, warm walls pressuring around his fingers.

Then, a tiny sound. Soft. Desperate. “Joel, please.”

Fuck. Every person needs to hear that once in their lifetime. Their whole other half just falling apart while clinging to your name.

His stomach tensed, heat surging through him so sudden and hard he had to close his eyes, had to bite down hard on his own restraint before he did something stupid—like buck against her like a goddamn teen and blow a load into his jeans.

Because of the way she moved into his palm, the way her hips found the rhythm like instinct, like something she’d always known but never had the chance to learn—Jesus Christ, his frail heart was going to fail him.

“I know,” he breathed, voice gruff. “I know. Goddamn it, you’re so beautiful. So perfect f'me.”

How unoriginal. Cliché as a bitch. But what the hell else was he supposed to say? Write haikus? Sing praises? He would, if he had any sanity left. She was carved from silent fire and untouchable grace, delicate and untamed, something that had no damn business ending up here, in his ruined hands.

Her fingers dug into his back, ravaged by sensation, nails sinking in, breaking the skin, drawing blood—maybe. Didn’t fucking matter. Even that was sexy. That pain was welcome, something he'd carry with him like a brand, a scar he’d look at in the mirror tomorrow with a lazy smirk and think, yeah, my girl did that.

And then—he felt it. That old familiar twitch against his fingers, the way her body tensed, breath shuddering, forehead dropping against his.

She was close.

And if she was going to come, it wasn’t going to be on his marred hands. No way in hell. He needed to feel her come on him everywhere. Needed it to hit him so deep he felt pinpricks behind his goddamn eyes.

“Baby, hang on. Fuck, honey, gimme a second,” he rasped, voice wrecked, dragging his fingers out from her, savouring the heat, the slick. He popped them into his mouth, groaning low at the taste, the perfection of her. Wasn’t about to waste a single drop.

Leela only watched him, unusual, confused. “So strange.”

He wiped his mouth. “Unreal, baby. Taste so good.”

Then, shifting back against the headboard, he pulled her closer onto his lap. His hands slid up her thighs, thumbs stroking slow circles, coaxing, calming.

He nodded at his pants. “Wanna help me out of this?”

She nodded, still flushed, and reached down. Soft, slender, long hands worked the button loose, nudged the zipper down, knuckles grazing his stomach, fingers tracing down the happy trail, lower, lower—

She sucked in a breath when she laid eyes on the good stuff that sprang free.

He saw the flicker in her eyes, and he prayed to whatever was looking over him that he was in all right proportions, that he was to her liking, that he was good enough for her. But the way she seemed to assess, hesitating... Curiosity? Oh, good—anything other than disgust.

Then she glanced up at him, brow pinched. “You’re not wearing...”

He blinked, momentarily lost in his own haze, until he realized. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. God bless America.”

The laugh that burst out of her was sudden, real, pure, like she hadn't expected it. She did a double-take, covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

“Omigod, Joel. You’ve been walking around without underwear this whole time?”

He smirked, gathering her back into his arms, hands already working at the ties of her little knotted panties. “Alright, get your judgy ass over here.”

Two tugs, and they were gone, joining the mess of discarded clothes on the floor. He gave her tight behind a nice squeeze. “Y'know, you've got the perkiest butt I've ever seen. All that lifting and stretching—you drive me crazy with those teeny little shorts.”

She twisted his ear playfully. “So that's why you're always messing up with the tools.”

“Oh, yeah. Prettiest pussy, too,” he whispered, winking.

“Joel!” she hissed.

And then—finally—she was straddling his lap, stripped, all soft thighs and tough calves, muscles flexing as she adjusted, aligned over him, and found her balance, fingers curled into the headboard for support.

A little smile tugged at her lips. And it killed him. “Hi.”

“Hi, honey,” he murmured.

She was stunning—lean, strong, effortless. A goddamn supermodel. That hair, those muscles, those striking eyes, she had him by the balls and he wasn't complaining.

He held her hips, warm, smooth skin beneath his rough palms, a thumb tracing the soft, wet seam at her legs. He pushed a testing finger in, and she shivered.

“You ready for me?” he murmured.

She exhaled softly, before her hand came down, sliding into his hair, down his ear, his cheek—thumb brushing over his lips like she was memorizing him like he was something sacred.

And then, so quiet, so sure—“I want to feel all of you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Not fair. Not fucking fair. That should’ve given him a second, a moment to react, to curse, to do something—

But then she moved. And finally, finally, she took him inside her. Right where he’d been aching for her.

Heat. Tight. Unreal.

“Fuuuck.” A deep groan ripped out of his chest as she plunged down onto him, enveloping him in pressure so impossibly hot, impossibly incredible, that his head kicked back against the headboard.

Strain. Resistance. So much love.

Her body rebelled, not used to this stretch, this fullness, and when a sharp, quiet cry slipped from her, she buried it against his cheek. “Please.”

His breath stilled. Instinct flared hot in his veins—not desire, but protection, care, a tethered restraint that warred with the desperate need to move, to feel her completely.

His arms circled around her, strong. His lips found the edge of her eye, feeling the trail of tears, murmuring against her skin, “I'm right here, baby. You're doin’ so good. Take me so well.”

“It hurts,” she cried out sharply.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. You want to take a breath for me?”

And she did. A nice, long, deep one into his neck. The hot air ghosted around his nape. Then two more, until it felt like her breaths were finally stuttering back into her.

He kissed her eye. “That's a good girl. You got this. Eyes on me.”

She nodded shakily, holding his gaze.

“Only me, alright?”

He tightened his hold on her hips, not to force, not to move—just to be there, to keep her close as he raised up, his back protesting with a pricking ache, meeting her halfway, easing her down inch by inch, a motion as old as time, gentle, ready, his.

“Feel like a dream, darlin’,” he whispered against her skin, voice barely holding together.

A shiver. A squeeze around him, tight and sweet, like a pulse, a welcome. This was his home.

And he felt it—this wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just something done to her, wasn’t something she was just letting happen.

She wanted every inch of him. And Joel was going to move fucking mountains to give it to her.

Joel moved with her, for her, matching the slow, hesitant rhythm she set. Each slide into her was deep, measured—he wasn’t chasing anything except her, wasn’t losing himself in the feeling of her wrapped around him, not yet. No, this was about letting her take what she needed. About making sure she knew, in her bones, that this was hers. He was hers.

“Joel, is this okay?” she panted.

He looked up at her and sighed from numb lips, “Baby, how the hell are you real?”

Because Jesus, if she wasn’t the sexiest goddamn thing he’d ever seen—the way her brows pinched, the way her pretty mouth parted, the way her breath hitched when he hit that spot.

The way her body crashed above him, her hands clung to the headboard, his shoulders, nails gripping, grounding—she was giving him everything without even realizing it. A little gasp left her lips each time he lifted his hips, rocking against hers, pushing her just a little bit further, testing the limits of what she could take.

His fingers smoothed down her spine, following the curve of her back, his lips finding her throat, the little hollow just beneath her ear.

“That's my good girl,” he encouraged, voice rough, rasping into her ear. “Feels nice, don’t it? Feels real nice.”

She shuddered, a little whimper catching at the back of her throat. Her thighs tensed around him, gripping tight around his neck, but her movements faltered. A stutter. A hesitation.

Joel slowed. Just enough to feel her, to see her, to be sure.

And that’s when he knew. That she wasn’t quite there. No matter how wet she was, how ready and tight she was around him, something in her body held back.

But it wasn’t fear or pain or shyness or any of that bullshit. It was just unfamiliar. A wariness just under her skin, something holding her back, keeping her from letting go.

And Joel understood.

His gut tightened, hurt pulling at his chest, but this—this wasn’t just about fucking. It wasn’t just about getting her to some peak, some finish line, some goal he had to chase.

It was about unlearning. It was being with her. It was about replacing whatever fucked-up pain in her, whatever taking had come before, with something soft, small and theirs.

And if she didn’t come or if she didn’t even know what that felt like—hell, that didn’t change a goddamn thing. Didn’t change the way he was making love to her, how much he loved her, loved feeling her move on top of him, for him.

It also didn’t change the fact that he was already hanging by a thread, already wound too tight, already gritting his teeth to keep himself from losing it, because she felt too good, too right, like she was made to be wrapped around him, to take him this deep.

He wasn't going to last very long, he was pushing his limit here, his prime of life was to blame for that. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold onto the moment, hold onto her—but it was too much, too perfect, too fucking good.

His hands flexed at her hips, gripping, steadying her, his own control unravelling fast.

“Jesus—Leela, I'm—!”

“Joel?” she called, concerned almost.

He wanted to wait as long as he could. Wanted to hold off, wanted to take her there with him, to let her feel all of it, but this old fucking desperate body—

But then she moved, sinking down, rolling her hips against him in just the right way, and he broke.

“Oh, shit!”

A deep, guttural sound tore from his throat, his arms snapping tight around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he spilled deep inside her, every muscle in his body seizing up. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, breath ragged, fingers flexing against her slick skin.

He stayed like that for a moment, ears ringing, buried in her, completely wrung out, slumping into her, breathing her in, feeling her heartbeat pound against his own. Oh, but he was currently in orbit, in fucking space.

And then—when his thoughts returned back to planet Earth, back to Jackson, back to this home, when the haze started to clear—he pulled back, just enough to see her.

She looked… confused. Like she'd gone wrong somewhere. Lips parted, eyes hazy, looking between them, like she was waiting for something, like she wasn’t sure if this was it.

She blinked. “I...”

Joel watched her, studied the soft rise and fall of her chest, the way her body still trembled around him, the way her fingers curled gently against his throat.

She didn’t know, of course. Didn’t realize. That she hadn’t come.

And he didn’t feel bad about it—not in the way a man might, not in the way that turned it into some failure, something to gnaw on, to carry like a weight. Shit, she'd gone as far as to relive this for him.

But still—he wanted to give that to her. Wanted her to feel it, to know what it meant to be shattered and held together all at once.

“One more try, okay?” he rasped, barely breathing it into her skin. He kissed her shoulder, collar and throat. “Gimme one more. You can do it. Just hold onto me.”

A small smile came alive on her lips. “Okay.”

Joel bore down again, gripping her hips tighter, pulling her closer, pushing deeper—trying this time, rather than feeling.

His breath came wild, strained, body shaking with the force of it, sweat splashing lazily onto her breasts, in the effort of making her feel it. His heart was hammering, his arms flexing, his thighs burning as he surged up into her, chasing that high for her, something he needed to give her.

And still—still—Leela just watched him. Soft, quiet, moving with him, letting him take her, feeling his strength beneath her, stroking his cheek, his hair, her fingertips whisper-light against his damp skin.

No gasping desperation, no frantic, uncontrolled unravelling. Just… this.

And Joel—fuck—he didn’t know what to do with that. She wasn’t pretending. Would be nice if she did. She wouldn’t know how to fake it, would she? Wouldn’t know the right way to move, the right way to sound, the right way to let a man know he was making her come undone and get this over with.

And the realization punched him in the gut. Blindsided him completely.

It wasn't about to happen. He'd just have to let go.

But Joel couldn’t stop. Not now, not when he was this close. When he was teetering on the fucking edge. When his body was demanding release with an intensity he hadn’t felt in years.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Sorry, I can't. I can't.”

“Joel, it's okay, it's okay,” she coaxed.

So he held her down, his grip firm, desperate. Feeling so fucking selfish as he pushed and pushed harder. Broke a sweat. Gave it everything he had left in him, one last time—until his muscles locked, until heat ripped through him once more, until he spilled deep inside her again with another ragged, shuddering groan.

And Leela—sweet, accepting Leela—just cradled him through it. Breathed against his cheek, kissed his ear, smoothed her hands over his hair, and ran her fingers along the tense lines of his back, comforting him.

Because Joel had never felt more fucking helpless in his life. He buried his face in her neck, his arms locking tight around her, his body wracked with aftershocks, his chest rising and falling hard against hers.

“Joel,” she said, a softness behind his name.

His throat was tight. He swallowed. “You have to—you haven't—”

“I feel really good,” she whispered. “Really good.”

Joel breathed in deep, exhaled slow. She meant it. She felt good. It wasn’t some half-truth, some lie to spare his feelings. Leela didn’t lie to him—she didn’t know how to, not in a way that mattered.

So he let it go. Let himself believe her. However difficult and excruciating it was.

“Do you wanna lie down?” he murmured, brushing the backs of his fingers over her jaw. “Lemme clean up and hurry back to you, alright?”

“Okay.”

She nodded, watching as he rolled out of bed, buckled up his pants, and stretched his sore back with a quiet grunt. That pleasant ache in his muscles, he could get used to this. He ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, then disappeared into the bathroom.

The second he flicked on the light, he set both hands over the sink, bracing himself. His reflection stared back at him, every line on his face a little deeper, slick with sweat, his greying scruff a little rougher, hair a Leela-made mess. His body was still running hot, his ears still rung, still a little shaky in the aftermath.

But under all that? Confusion. Loathing. Every i had been dotted, every t crossed. So what the hell went wrong?

His fingers turned the tap on, ran cool water over his palms. He splashed some onto his face and neck and chest, let it dribble down to his throat, rinsed his mouth and took another breath.

“You goddamn dud,” he muttered to himself.

Maybe it was him. All those years of nothing. Years of his body belonging to no one but himself. Years of only touching for a release. A ferocious protector, sure, but it made him an incapable lover. He never knew a damn thing about the female body, how to work it, how to please her. Should've let her come on his hand when he had the chance. Stupid, greedy asshole.

With a final splash of water to his face, he scrubbed a wet hand through his hair and stepped back into the bedroom. Time to face the music.

Leela had already slipped her nightdress back on, the straps falling just slightly off her shoulder, her hair combed back a little neater. She was curled up against the pillows, drowsy, waiting for him.

Joel didn’t hesitate to slide into bed beside her, sinking into the warmth of her body like he belonged there. Like they’d been doing this forever.

She nestled in closer automatically, her breath soft against his cheek. His fingers trailed down her face with a slow, lazy kind of affection, committing the shape of her in this light to memory..

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

She smiled sleepily, amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. “You said that a lot.”

“Mean it every time,” he said, voice rough. “You’re my dreamgirl.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, low and teasing, but her fingers curled into his chest, holding onto him like she didn’t quite believe it.

“So I’m supposed to come, is that it?” she mused, drawing out the words.

Joel had spent most of his life keeping things simple. Straightforward. No fuss, no questions, no goddamn talking about it.

He let out a long, suffering sigh, pressing his forehead to hers. Jesus, he could just roll over and fix this. He would—happily. But for once, he didn’t want to rush, didn’t want to miss the quiet, golden stretch of time between basking in the afterglow and sleep.

“It amazes me that you don’t know that,” he muttered.

She shrugged, unbothered. “I did feel nice.”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry, I couldn't give it to you.”

Her eyes softened. She turned her face into his hand, pressing a deep, lingering kiss into his palm. He swallowed around it, around the way it made him feel—too big, too much, too good.

“Don't be. I had a lot of fun,” she admitted.

Fun. Sex had never been fun. Not for him, Not in his whole goddamn lifetime. It had been a release, a need, a way to forget or feel an ounce of freedom. But fun? Especially from someone who'd been through hell on this?

He looked at her like she’d just rewritten the entire world in front of him.

“I could get used to this with you. Just... slowly.”

His brain short-circuited. “Used to this with me?”

She nodded, pushing half her face shyly into the pillow, a single, shining brown eye peering up at him.

Jesus Christ. He really was about a pop a vein in his forehead. “Right back at you,” he managed.

Then she lifted onto her elbow, hovering over him, her fingers trailing slow, aimless patterns over the fuzz on his chest. Her touch wasn’t meant to start something—to tease or demand. It was just her, touching him because she wanted to. Because she could.

“Don’t look at me like that, darlin’,” he grumbled, already feeling the heat creep back into his body. “I can barely see straight anymore. There’s three of you in front of me.”

She grinned, leaning in so close her lips almost brushed his. “It’s usually the one in the middle.”

He let out a hoarse laugh, shaking his head. “I ain’t one of your damn machines either. If I am, well—I need big repairs. Gotta oil my gears, tighten some screws.”

She kissed his cheek with a soft giggle, once, twice—then a third time to his lips, slow and sweet. A silent promise. A quiet goodnight.

“I’ll take twenty years off you in no time,” she murmured, nuzzling her nose against his. “You’ll be living till you’re a hundred. Goodnight, Joel.”

She nestled back into the cold pillows, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, guiding him close until his face was tucked between her neck and the soft swell of her chest.

Joel breathed out, letting himself sink into her. His arms slung over her waist, pulling her close until there was nothing between them, his leg tangling with hers.

“Till I’m a hundred, my ass,” he muttered, already halfway asleep. “You keep ridin’ me like that, I’m kickin’ rocks at sixty.”

She gasped, appalled. “Joel!”

He grinned against her skin, pressing a kiss to her throat. “G'night.”

X

Joel felt that night in his bones for three days straight.

The delicious ache, the lingering burn, the way his body still hummed like it was catching up to itself—he felt every damn bit of it. Like walking about with a brand on his chest, her name in big, fat capitals, burned into his skin that wasn't ever going to fade. If he let his mind wander, he swore he could still feel the imprint of her nails on his shoulders, the scratch of her breathy moans against his throat.

It had been a long, long time since he'd felt this kind of soreness, since he'd let himself have anything that good. And now that he had—Christ, it was all he could think about.

Sure, his stamina wasn’t what it used to be. He wasn’t some young buck anymore, wasn’t out here trying to prove anything. That kind of energy belonged to a different lifetime. A life where survival meant running, fighting, bleeding, and losing.

But now?

Now, his life was slow. Lazy. Boring. And fuck, if it wasn’t the best goddamn thing in the world.

Every morning, he woke up in what he could only rightfully call the bed to end all beds—wrapped up in a too-soft duvet, which made it near impossible to leave. Sheets tangled around his legs, pillows propped just right. But the best part?

Leela. His girl. Partner. Whatever the fuck. Just call her his.

Sleeping right beside him, fingers still loosely twisted around his from sometime in the night.

He wasn’t a man prone to sentiment. But every single morning, without fail, he’d lie there for a minute, blinking slowly at the ceiling, feeling her warmth beside him, and he’d think: what the hell evil did I destroy to deserve this?

Because he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to wake up slow, wrapped in her warmth. Didn’t deserve the way she just let him have this—her body, her trust, her time. But she gave it anyway.

And if he was weak, if he was pathetic, well—he wasn’t strong enough to just lie there and not touch her.

So he’d roll onto his side, push his face into her shoulder, into her hair, breathe her in, feel the strength of her long legs beneath his palms. Because, deep down, some stupid, aching part of him needed to make sure she was still real. That she hadn’t just vanished into steam.

“Mornin’,” he’d murmur, voice gravelly with sleep, lips brushing over the soft skin of her neck.

And she’d hum, still mostly asleep, shifting closer without thinking, tucking herself against him like she knew. Like she knew she was his, and he was hers, and they had time—all the time in the world to wake up slow and warm in each other’s arms.

Joel didn’t know how to handle that. Didn’t know what the hell to do with the way it made him feel, all thick and too much in his chest.

So he did what he did know how to do. He kissed her. Once. Twice. Again. And again.

Unhurried and soft, against her shoulder, her arm, her cheek, wherever he could. Until she grumbled, barely audible, something along the lines of Joel, let me sleep, swatting at him half-heartedly.

He never listened. Not when he had her like this. Not when she was somewhat awake, turning over onto her back, peeking up at him with those bleary, half-lidded eyes.

“Last one before I get your coffee,” he’d lie, pressing a slow, lingering kiss behind her ear.

And it was never just one. Soon enough, Joel would drag himself up, forcing himself to leave the warmth of their bed, of her, if only for one thing.

His next favourite part of the morning.

His little girl. Maya.

The second Joel stepped into the nursery, flicking on the dim light, the world felt right. Scented in warm linens and baby powder, as the soft morning glow bled through the curtains, it painted everything in muted greens and pink.

And there she was. His baby girl curled in her little nest of blankets, fists rubbing at her groggy eyes, her dark curls sticking out every which way like she’d been fighting sleep all night.

Then she saw him. And the second she did—

“Da-da-da-da-da!”

Joel barely had time to brace before she shot straight up, balancing on the tips of her toes against the crib bars, hands clapping, a little bouncing bean of excitement.

And that damn sweetheart grin. All toothy and wide, like she’d been waiting her whole life to see him again. It got him every time, that overwhelming sense of sweet defeat. He'd take a knife in the heart for her.

He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head at her, at the way her tiny face was all lit up with him simply showing up.

“There’s my baby girl,” he rumbled, stepping forward, and scooping her up into his arms in one smooth motion, raining kisses on her cheeks.

Maya let out a squealing little giggle, tiny hands immediately going for his face, his beard, her favourite thing to grab early in the morning. She clutched two greedy handfuls, tugging at the scruff like it was hers.

He brushed a hand down her curls. “Did you sleep well?”

“Sleeeepy,” she said around her fist.

She babbled against his shoulder—nonsense, tiny sounds he swore had some kind of meaning only she knew—her chubby little arms tightening around his neck in a hug that damn near melted him.

Then—of course—she went right back to attacking his beard, tugging with all her tiny might.

Joel winced, letting out a mock grumble, “Yeah, alright. You just want Daddy for the whiskers, huh?”

Maya let out a high-pitched giggle, and he felt her breath, warm against his neck, little fingers wandering up to pat his cheeks.

Joel, of course, pretended to eat her fingers instead, lips smacking, making exaggerated chomping sounds. Maya screeched, all wiggly and squirming, kicking in his arms with laughter so wild and free, it made his whole day before it even started.

He sighed, pressing his nose against her cheek, breathing her in. Baby powder. Warmth. His baby girl.

“Alright, trouble. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He carried her over to the little bathroom by the nursery, got her washed up, and changed into one of the tiny little sweaters that had once belonged to her mama. Maya, of course, made it an ordeal—wiggling, talking to him, playing with her own toes.

Joel took his time. Didn’t rush a damn thing.

A normal, mundane morning—waking up next to the woman he loved, starting the day with his baby girl. That was his whole rhythm now.

Some days their mornings went quick—too quick for his liking. Early in the morning, shovelling down his breakfast alone, yelling goodbye to his girls, and heading out for patrol, only to spend every second waiting until he could get back to them. Waiting for that first breath of home, that happy squeal he would hear from Maya ten yards out, that first kiss again.

The house was still half-asleep when Joel clattered his plate into the sink. Maya let out a soft whimper from her mother's arms, travelling across the kitchen, getting his attention first, and Leela—half-awake, hair mussed, sweater slipping off one shoulder—murmured, “You’re being loud.”

Joel grabbed his jacket off the chair, shoving an arm through one sleeve. “Ain’t got time to be quiet. Tommy's gonna blow a fuse.”

Leela huffed, rubbing a hand over her face. “You ever think about waking up ten minutes earlier?”

Joel snorted, already at the door. “You ever think about wakin’ up with me?”

That earned him a half-hearted glare over her shoulder. “I'm a night owl. I need the dark to think.”

Maya stirred, a tiny, bleary-eyed thing, her hands stretching toward him. Joel hesitated, foot already over the threshold.

Leela, catching the way his shoulders pulled tight, sighed. “Go, Joel.”

“Don't work yourself too hard while I'm gone,” he warned.

Leela just hummed in accord, adjusting Maya against her shoulder.

Joel hesitated. Then, before he could think twice, he ducked back in, pressing a long, deep kiss to her lips, holding her chin tight between his palm, just until he fought for breath.

She startled when he pulled away, blinking up at him. Then playfully shoved at his chest to get him out the door. “Go already.”

But some days—the best days—mornings were slow. Breakfast on the island or out on the porch, the intense scent of coffee thick in the cold air, his hand curled around the mug that curled out steaming ribbons into his face, while Leela sat beside him, legs tucked up under herself, grinning at him over the rim of her cup.

Joel tipped his mug toward his lips, letting the heat of the coffee melt into him. Watching her.

She tilted her head, nudging his thigh with her knee. “Are you always this quiet in the mornings? I never noticed.”

Joel glanced at her. “Ain’t got much to say with you around.”

She raised a brow, taking a small sip of her own coffee. “That so?”

Joel smirked, sipping slowly. “Just like listenin’ to you talk.”

Leela scoffed. “That’s funny. ‘Cause last time I checked, you like cutting me off halfway.”

Joel pursed his lips, considering. “Only when you’re talkin’ nonsense. Y'know, your little nerdspeak thing you do.”

Her mouth parted in excessive offence. “Oh, so my technicalities are nonsense?”

Joel blew into his coffee cup. “Mm.”

She gave him a slow, evaluating look, then nudged him hard enough that coffee nearly sloshed over the rim of his cup.

“Goddammit, girl.” He shot her a glare, but it was ruined by the way his lips were twitching.

The mornings when snow blanketed the whole town, and he’d bundle Maya up like a little marshmallow, watching her waddle out into the white, her excitement vibrating through every inch of her tiny body. He’d stand there on the porch, arms crossed, watching her vigilantly as she threw herself into the snow, chubby hands slapping the ground, kicking her little legs while Leela laughed beside him.

Sometimes, mornings like this used to feel like a chore. Errands. Town. A list scrawled on his palm, running through daily tasks that he used to do alone—back when it had just been him and Sarah, back when Saturday mornings meant grocery runs, when her tiny hands would have been in his, tugging him toward whatever caught her eye.

Now, it was Maya, and she was a whole different kind of trouble.

Leela had gone off to meet Maria at the dam—something about some loose wiring, an issue that she was insisting she could fix, even though Joel had very strong feelings about her doing anything that required standing near running water with electrical tools. But that left him here, alone with Maya, tackling grocery shopping.

Joel let her wander, let her explore at her own level, tiny squeaky boots padding against the wooden floorboards of the trading post, soft little oohs and ahs slipping from her lips whenever she spotted something that intrigued her. He kept one eye on the list, the other on her, reaching out every so often to keep her from knocking into someone’s knees or tugging on a coat that didn’t belong to her.

But the second she drifted too far—too quick, too small, lost too easy in the crowd—he was on her.

A sigh deep in his chest, scooping her up, tucking her under his arm while she squealed and huffed, little hands batting at him in protest. Little gremlin.

“Don't gimme that, baby girl,” he muttered, setting her down just long enough to grab the last thing on his list.

Potatoes. Should’ve been easy. Joel let go of her hand for two damn seconds to grab the bag from the shelf—and when he turned back, she was gone.

His stomach dropped.

“Christ, not again,” he muttered under his breath, shifting his basket to his hip. “Maya?”

No answer. Just the quiet squeak of her boots, quick little steps padding away.

“Maya!”

Joel pushed past people, scanning, breath already working too hard through his nose. It wasn’t panic—not exactly—but it was something close. He had to remind himself that she wasn't made of glass and this was Jackson, yet that was still his baby.

His eyes locked on her in an instant. “Fast fuckin' menace,” he muttered.

She was standing a few feet away, tiny and oblivious, playing with the tab of a can of beans, flicking it up and down with rapt fascination. Didn't even bother looking at him.

Someone was crouched in front of her, blocking her from view. “Where’s your mother, sweetheart?”

Joel already knew who it was before he even reached them.

“Eugene,” he called.

The man glanced up at him, eyes narrowing for a beat before recognition settled in, mouth stretching into a knowing grin. “Miller.” He stood with a grunt, rolling out his shoulders. “Hey, help me out here. This kid’s parent—”

“Is me,” Joel muttered, already reaching for Maya, plucking her up onto his hip like she belonged nowhere else. “C'mere, trouble,” and a firm kiss to the top of her head, his fingers pressing into her tiny back.

“You?” Eugene questioned, thrown off balance.

What, had he been living under a rock? Maya had been the talk of the town since she'd been born. Who speaking off, squealed, giggling, smacking a hand against his cheek—some little game she’d apparently decided was hilarious.

“Me,” Joel confirmed, levelling Eugene with a look. “We got a problem?”

Eugene made a low sound in his throat, eyes flicking between them, like he was sizing up a damn prize mule. Then his mouth curled up once more.

“Oh yeah, I see it,” he said, nodding. “She’s got your big-ass nose.”

“Fuck off.”

“Calmeth thy tits,” Eugene grinned, “I’m tryna be polite.”

“Don’t need it.”

Eugene raised his hands in mock surrender, chuckling under his breath. “So this is why you’ve been copping out of patrol a lot lately. Got Tommy's panties in a twist.”

He nodded toward Maya, who had now taken to tugging on Joel’s beard, testing its durability like she had every right in the world to grab at her old man’s face.

Joel sighed, prying her fingers free one by one. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Guess it is.”

“Yeah, by the looks of it, she's a handful. Cute as shit, though.”

And Eugene—he just stood there a second. Looking at Joel, smelling strongly of weed, basket in his grip, a box of food from the canteen and a bottle of whiskey sitting inside.

Joel saw it then. The difference between them. An old ghost of himself.

Eugene—the kind of man he might’ve been had it not been his instinct to quiet a baby's cries from next door. A year ago, maybe even less, he would’ve been the one with the bottle of whiskey in his cart, the one picking up meals from the canteen instead of making them. The one going home alone.

Eugene exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Huh,” he muttered. Then, a nod, a flash of grudging pride behind his eyes. “You came through. Good for you, Miller.”

Joel didn’t have the words for it. Didn’t know how to put into words what this was, what it felt like to have this, to have them—after years of nothing.

So he just cleared his throat and adjusted Maya in his arms. Eugene just chuckled, slapping a hand on his shoulder before stepping past him, humming under his breath.

Eugene didn’t walk off right away.

Joel could feel him there—still standing at his side, still weighing the words on his tongue. It set his teeth on edge, the way Eugene hesitated. Like he was debating whether to say what was already burning behind his lips.

Then, finally—

“You wanna tell me why Ellie and Dina are so interested in the Fireflies all of a sudden?”

Joel went winded. The Maya's little weight in his arms was suddenly the only thing keeping him upright, keeping him tethered. He barely blinked. Barely breathed.

His voice bit out dangerously low. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

Eugene tightened the basket in his grip. Shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. But his eyes were sharp when they cut to Joel, measuring.

“She’s been askin’ these ex-Firefly folks like me and Tommy,” he told him. “Came to me couple nights back—askin’ if I knew anything. If I’d heard anything about ‘em regrouping.”

Joel swallowed, throat dry as dust.

His grip on Maya didn’t tighten—he made sure of that. Kept his hands gentle, careful, even as the rest of him braced. But inside—inside, he clenched up like a fist.

Ellie. Asking about the Fireflies.

It wasn’t panic curling up his spine. Worse.

Because she’d known. She’d gone back to that hospital. She’d walked through the bloodstains, the echoes of gunfire, the remnants of what he’d done. She’d seen the truth laid bare, stripped of all the justifications he’d tried to wrap around it. And she’d spent months—years—dragging herself through the wreckage, trying to make sense of it.

Trying to make peace with him.

He’d watched her try. Seen it in the way she forced herself to stay, even when the silence stretched too long between them. In the way she looked at him sometimes, like she was still searching for something, still waiting for an answer he could never give. He thought—he hoped—that with time, she’d let it rest. That the scars would settle, and they could leave that part of their lives buried where it belonged.

But now—now they were here again.

And Joel didn’t know if they could come back from it this time.

The walls of the room felt like they were creeping in closer, like if he stood still too long, he’d get swallowed whole, but Joel forced his breath steady. In. Out. In. Out. Kept his shoulders loose even as something behind his ribs coiled tight, wound like a spring.

“And?” He made his voice even, ironing out the edges. “You tell her anythin’?”

Eugene huffed, shaking his head. “Nothin’ worth tellin’. Just old stories, y’know? Old bases, old rumours, old movement. And about that research base over at Caltech. I don’t know what she’s lookin’ for, but maybe keep an eye out for your other little girl, too, yeah?”

Joel stared at nothing. His heart pounded heavy, like a fist banging against a locked door. Ellie had stopped asking a long time ago. Or at least, he’d thought she had. Maybe she’d just stopped asking him.

But why now? After all this time?

Not unless—

His mind snagged on the past few weeks. The time Ellie had been spending across the way. The quiet conversations, the way she lingered at their porch, shifting her weight like she was waiting on something. He hadn’t thought much of it at first. Leela kept to herself, and Ellie wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. Two closed-off people drifting toward each other, not expecting much in return.

But that wasn’t it.

Ellie was digging.

And Leela had handed her the shovel.

Of course she had.

Joel’s stomach twisted, that sourness settling deep. He should’ve seen it sooner. Should’ve recognized the signs.

Leela—the girl with something ripped from her before she ever had the chance to claim it. A name that couldn’t be rooted in history. A life that had been rewritten for her before she could write it herself.

Ellie had always been drawn to ghosts. The lost, the forgotten, the ones who didn’t get a choice. She saw herself in them. Clung to them. And Leela—she was another reflection in the glass.

Another kid who could’ve been something more.

Another wasted potential.

Another shot at redemption.

Joel clenched his teeth. He should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve stopped it before it got this far. Because this wasn’t just curiosity—not for Ellie. It never was. She was always looking for meaning in the wreckage. Always chasing the answers that would rip her open in the end.

And now she was looking again.

For the Fireflies. For Leela. For something she thought she’d lost. For something Joel had taken from her. Taken from them.

His chest tightened, breath coming sharp through his nose. He hadn’t just lied to Ellie all those years ago. He’d tried to close the door. To bury it, deep enough that she’d never claw it back to the surface. But maybe that was never the way it was going to go. Maybe it had just been a matter of time.

Eugene must’ve caught something in his expression, because he turned fully then, brows knitting together.

“You alright, Miller?”

Joel blinked. Swallowed. Got a hold of himself

“Yeah.” His voice was rough, scraped raw. “M’fine.”

Eugene didn’t look convinced. “You take care now.”

And maybe—for the first time in a long time—Joel wasn’t either.

But Eugene didn’t push. Just cleared his throat, nodded once, winked at Maya, and finally stepped away, boots heavy against the floorboards.

Joel stood there a second longer, the world shifting around him. It was a feeling he despised. The sensation of something slipping just beyond his grasp.

Then he looked down at Maya, small and soft in his arms, her tiny hand curled into the fabric of his coat, trusting. “Da-da, go. Go.”

The only part of his world that still made sense. He focused on that. On her warmth.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing her in. “Yeah, baby. Let's go.”

Then turned, stepping toward the door, already knowing—

He needed to find Ellie. Now.

X

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[siolixz]

'*•.¸♡ FATHER FIGURE ♡¸.•*'

Being Lucy's sister came with a lot of perks: good food, nice places to stay at- a rich handsome multimillionaire falling madly in love with you. Did I mention the rich handsome multimillioanire?

pairing: harry castillo x reader (Lucy's sister)

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

context: just fluff and romcom scenarios, older man x younger woman, everyone is over 18 and fully consenting; words: 3k I hope you will enjoy and pls tell me if you like it or tell me if you don't- I will probably write a part 2 with smut if it is well received. ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡ I will probably write the smut anyways tho loll Yes i have put a George Michael song name as the title put me in jail or whatever. Also I have no idea if his name is Randy or Harry so oh well, who cares hes so sexy.

It was a beautiful day in New York that welcomed you right back here in this city, looking across the cafe for your Lucy. 

You slept in today, after a long plane ride and a longer ride to your sister's apartment you had to get your rest for the days ahead- and for the wedding. Because of spring break and because she received a plus one invitation to one of her glorious matchmaking results- her ninth to be more precise, you just had to join her in New York for the week ahead. You didn’t have anything else better to do, plus, you missed her. 

She smiled at your sleepy face as you sat down in front of her.

As the coffee arrived you finally had some time to catch up on life, on your school and on her job. More importantly, how could John ever break up with her? She’s successful, she's beautiful and she’s brilliant. You told her that you were hoping she could finally get a guy who actually deserves her.

“I hope your wedding will be the tenth-” you started.

“Maybe it will be yours princess, did you think of that?” She smirked at you, clearly enjoying the banter you two were so used to having. 

“So that’s why you called me here- to set me up with someone?” you leaned across the table “Because I’m taking the first plane back to college if that's the case.”  There’s nothing more embarrassing than your own sister setting you up, I mean you could get a date if you tried but the boys back at school are, lacking.. certain qualities you were hoping for in a man.

She laughed at your expression, knowing you were being sarcastic and joking but also not really.  You could hardly hear each other anymore as more people came into the cafe.

She grabbed the hand you had on the table as she said: “You’ve grown so much- I’m so happy you're here with me.”

All day long you walked across New York City, first it was dress shopping- you probably tried on like 10 dresses before picking a gorgeous green floor length dress and your sister a blue dress. She covered everything like the great older sister she is and on you went towards Sephora to get everything you might need or just plain wanted- perks of having an older sister with money- and then it was take out time back home; feet sore and exhausted. You loved and hated being in this city, but you could clearly see why Lucy wanted to live here. So many people, so many stories to tell. You two took a nap and then by late afternoon you were out again for dinner with some of her friends and then for a walk in central park. 

“You know, I think tomorrow is going to be really special.” she linked your arms together as you passed people. 

“Really?” you turned the upper part of your body towards your sister as you walked. “In what way may I ask?”

“Like in a good way; maybe you’ll meet someone.” she whispered the last part “Or maybe in a bad way.” She turned away from you like she was thinking.  “Last time we were at a wedding together, you were very little- remember you got that stomach bug-”

“Ugh don’t remind me Lucy” you grimaced at her macabre reminiscing while she laughed in your face “We just ate-” 

The wedding was truly beautiful, the bride and groom looked great together and the food was completely out of this world. The groom was a finance guy, so it made sense that the wedding would be held in a grandiose style, I mean they had a chocolate fountain for god sake. And free gifts for people- free gifts!

You and Lucy talked with some people, ate some food from the candy bar while gossiping and danced a little bit but you had to take a break as ‘Cupid’ herself was socializing with acquaintances. You texted some of your friends, one from childhood and two from college- all ecstatic about the amazing things there. You had to remember to get Maddy a necklace as her birthday was coming up and Mark asked if you could get him a lucky cat doll and also-

“Is this seat taken?” 

You looked up at the owner of the voice, “Um, no- no it’s not.”

Um, yes it was, your sister was seated there- who even is this?

The stranger sat on the chair, turned his whole body to look at you and placed his hand under his head- like he was engaged in the most passionate discussion. 

From this position you could finally see the man up close- this must be the groom's best friend. Your sister told you as you sat down during the ceremony, even if you were seated far away, you could remember him now. He was right next to the groom.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you-”

“No, it’s okay-” Now you’re interrupting him, please stop.

He smiled at you, endeared by your attempt at alienating his worries. His smile reached his eyes and the corners wrinkled, like a testament of this strange man’s seasoned life. He looked at you in an almost parental fashion like he already knew you- wait, do you know him? 

Your sister has a bunch of friends and acquaintances around New York, maybe you did know him. “Do we know each other?” 

“No, I don’t believe we have met.” 

He had this air about him, like he was so comfortable and sure of himself. He smiled again at you, like he knew something you did not, was there something on your teeth?

“My name is Harry, it’s nice to meet you, miss…” You told him your name and he repeated it. 

Why was your heart beating so fast? Maybe because he was very, very handsome. 

“Would you like a drink?” he said your name again and you forgot all about the phone buzzing in your hand.

“Um..”

You looked across the ornate ballroom for your sister for a second.

“Wait, you’re old enough to drink, right?” His smile faltered for a second but he quickly regained it as you reassured him that you were indeed, old enough to drink. 

He ordered a cosmopolitan for you and an old fashioned for him and while you chatted, he asked about what you were doing in New York and how you knew the bride and the groom.

“You’re the matchmaker’s sister.” he pointed at you and you teared your gaze away from his beautiful brown eyes to notice the green ring on his finger. 

“I am.”

He must’ve noticed you looking at it as he too, looked at it- then at you and remarked:

“Green is my favorite color.”

This handsome man was clearly hitting on you, but why? You haven’t chatted with anyone this evening besides your sister and some basic chit-chat with the bride. He must’ve singled you out of the crowd as only a man with experience could have probably. Well it wasn’t going to end how he hoped, with you in his bed and him never calling you again. You weren’t born yesterday nor were you that desperate, no matter how handsome he was nor how tall and big he was compared to you-

No, you’re not going anywhere with him, you’re here for and with your sister. Speaking of which-

“I see you’ve made some friends.” She smiled as she came closer and introduced herself to Harry. Harry. What a beautiful name. 

As he turned his head towards her you looked at the curls he had at the base of his neck and thought you could never look at someone more handsome- his face looked like it was sculpted!

She made some polite conversation and It wasn’t long before she had to excuse you two in order to introduce you to some people there.

So in about 2 minutes- you said your goodbye’s and you left him there, silently hoping that maybe he could call out your name as you walked away or run after you and tell you he is madly in love with you ‘please don’t go’ - you audibly giggled next to your sister as you walked away, amused entirely by your schoolgirl-like-dreams as she gave you an odd look.

It was the cosmopolitan’s fault, you were sure.

As the night wore on you tried to see him again but to no avail; he must’ve left with some pretty model or gorgeous woman- the thought left an emptiness in your stomach you couldn’t shake for the whole night.

You were woken up by the sunrays on your face and by an immense amount of thirst that left your throat feeling like you scratched it all night long. You grabbed your phone instinctively and after about 30 minutes of coming back to life you finally got up.

As you entered the living room you saw your older sister on the phone and gave her a small wave.

She nodded her head at you as you walked into the kitchen to grab some ice cold water. 

Why was everything so hot in this apartment? 

After she finished her phone call you could finally debrief with her about last night's events, the most important of those things was definitely her meeting up with John again.

“Life just finds a way I guess.” you told her as she grabbed a coke from the fridge.

“Yeah, I guess.” She opened the can, took a sip and said “By the way, I have a surprise for you.”

“Yeah, what?” You couldn’t deny the way your heart jumped a little bit- maybe a bit more.

“I have a date for you.”

“Lucy, no..” you groaned. Was it with him? God let it be him.

“Hear me out, ok? I have to be at a girlfriend's house this evening and I want you to go, I would hate for you to be inside while I go have fun- plus you don’t have to go on a second date or anything, this is just for fun- no expectations, ok?” She pleaded with her eyes at you.

“I can’t say anything about this guy, but you have a lot in common, he is also a student like you- maybe you can bond over that.”

The day dragged on until 5pm when you had to get ready, you were hoping this guy wasn’t some snob or insufferable, but you trusted your sister. A short red dress and heels would suffice, as you were going to quite a fancy restaurant on the upper east side. When you arrived you said your name to the waiter and sat down at one of the beautiful velvet booths and ordered a glass of water for yourself. Being alone in a place as fancy as this, you did feel quite out of place a little bit.

On to wait for that guy to show up, even though you arrived on time.

Traffic in New York is horrible, so maybe he is fashionably late. 

He was not fashionably late as 45 minutes had passed and you were still alone, you could see people glance at you between the sounds of silverware- pitying you.

Or maybe no one cared, it was hard to tell- especially because you were so embarrassed. 

Your fingers itched for your phone, to text Lucy a 'I told you so'. Netflix and pajamas sounded infinitely better than this empty booth and the pitying glances. God you wish you were home right now, not dressed so fancy and looking so good only to be stood up.

The waiter came back, probably to ask you if anyone is coming. 

No, no one is coming.

“Is this seat taken?”

You looked up in bewilderment and met the gorgeous brown eyes of last night's enamourment. Harry was looking down at you, an amused look in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, almost too loud in this fancy setting. “No, no it’s not.” Your heart started beating fast as he sat down in front of you, he looked even more handsome in the dimmed yellow lights of this restaurant.

He took off his dress jacket and placed it on the chair, you couldn't help but stare at the way his big arms looked, he was a very big man, so handsome too-

“I was having a meeting with my business partner and I looked across the room and there you were. “ He smiled at you like he did last night.

You were happy to see him, very happy.

“What are you doing here, Cinderella?” 

“I was waiting for someone, some guy my sister set me up with- he didn’t show up.” You leaned across the table so only he could hear what you said, not the old couple next to you two as well. 

“What an idiot.” He leaned close to you as well and you could smell his cologne “Well it’s good I am here now, right? We can carry on last night's conversation.” 

As you two ordered food, he asked you what you were studying. 

“Psychology. I have a scholarship.” 

“So you’re beautiful and smart.” He placed the napkin he received across his lap and you felt your ears get warm- you hoped the lights in this restaurant would dim the blush on your face as well. “Do you like what you are studying?” 

“Yes I do. I truly want to start my own clinic back home and help people.” You must’ve talked for like some full minutes about your degree and dreams while he asked you questions. He seemed genuinely interested in what you were saying, like he wanted to learn as much as he could about you.

He told you he would like to be your first pacient when you do become a psychologist and you laughed.

Harry was a funny man, very charming as well, though he had a way of turning a phrase to escape any sort of mention towards his private life, you wondered why that is. 

“Can I ask you a question?” you played with the short hem of your dress under the table. 

“Of course, anything you want.” He took a sip of his drink as he looked at you. His hands looked so big around the glass.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but may I ask how old you are?” you could find in his eyes a touch of mischief, like he was thinking of something funny to say so he could see you smile.

“24.” he said. With the most monotone voice he could muster and with a straight face.

“24?” you asked, knowing he was messing around with you but deciding to play into his game. 

“Yes, I lived a rough couple of years as you can see. What’s so funny?” he asked you, faking being angry at your smiling face.

“Nothing.” you tried to hide your smile.

“You better not be laughing at my life story.”

“I’m really not.” you put on your serious face.

A man came by your table as the waiter started bringing dessert, and Harry got up to greet him, the man shook Harry’s hand and thanked him, before he left he gave you a polite smile and a ‘good night’ to both of you as he exited the restaurant with his wife or girlfriend. 

“Old friend.” Harry said as he sat back down again “He just bought an apartment complex.”

“Wow, he must be rich.” 

“Very rich indeed.” he took the spoon from next to the plate and cut through the lava cake he was brought. “Like this chocolate.”

 “I wanted to ask you if you wanted to dance with me yesterday” He looked at you again and you wanted to die inside when you remembered that you left him.  "You missed out," he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm quite the dancer."

"Oh, really?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow. 

"Don’t worry. I'm a fast learner. I won’t let you get away twice"

"Is that a threat?" you asked.

"A promise," he corrected you as he took a bite of the dessert.

Harry asked for your number by the end of the night and you gave it to him, of course you did.

As he told the waiter that he should put the dinner on his tab you protested, but he would have none of it. He said that this was the most fun he had in a while as he got up and watched you exit the booth. 

“Let me take you home-” He started as he let you walk ahead of him; you tried to ignore the way he looked at you; like he was still hungry.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, I’ll call an uber.” He helped you put on your jacket before he opened the door for you.

A soft breeze danced around the streets of the city at this late hour- you hugged your jacket closer to you. You didn’t want your meeting to end, but it had to. 

“Nonsense, let me take you home, c’mon.” He climbed the steps before you and turned around so your eyes could meet at the same level. His dark hair, with its natural waves, framed his face and the silver streak in his hair reminded you of something- he was so handsome, how was he so handsome? He smelled great too.

You smiled at him, maybe the drink you had inside made you this courageous. 

“You never told me how old you are.” Everyone passing by you two must think you were drunk by the way you were smiling at each other. He grabbed your hands in his much bigger ones and pressed them close together, like one might do to a child to make them listen- butterflies danced across your stomach again because of the sudden intimacy.

Harry’s smile faltered slightly and he adopted a more serious expression before lowering his voice and telling you: “I’m 49 years old.”

His deep brown eyes searched your face, like wanting to remember it before you start showing any signs of discomfort. 

You wanted to say something, before he interrupted you “If you are uncomfortable, I promise, I’ll take you home and I’ll never say-”

“And If I am not?” you spoke over him. 

His eyebrows relaxed back on his face as relief washed over his expression and a smile slowly started spreading across his lips. His eyes twinkled under the light above you two from the entrance of the restaurant and he looked at you like he wanted to kiss you.

“I’ll take you home then.”

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Authors note: I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this for you and for me. I hope you have a great day and wish u de best.

If you are one of my long time followers, I just wanna say im sorry that I havent written anything in quite a while, but life got in the way and I just couldn't find any inspiration to give you something actually good. But I am back now! And to stay for good this time unless stated otherwise. ILY